


Skin to Skin Combat

by angledust



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Begging, Bondage, Breathplay, Captivity, Cuddling, Dark Batman, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Mind Games, Mystery, Off-screen Minor Character Death, PWP, Past Batcat, Past Scriddler - Freeform, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Riddles, Rough Sex, Smut, Zero Year Riddler, lots of dead rogues, no one is nice, other pairings mentioned - Freeform, unhealthy relationship, with some plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 56,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angledust/pseuds/angledust
Summary: Batman has changed, and is willing to do whatever it takes to clean up Gotham. A freshly reformed Riddler is far too intrigued to do the sensible thing and stay away.
Relationships: Batman/Riddler, Edward Nygma/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 108
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a couple of years after the events of zero year, which is the only definite canon I'm using in this story, everything else is from random places.  
> Please note the warnings and tags. The non-con tag is mostly because of power dynamics but there are some scenes that go beyond that. There is a lot of minor character death and anyone not included in the character tags can die.  
> I hope you enjoy the story and if you do please let me know!

It’s time to leave. The Bat’s off chasing Isley, and any partygoers not too dazed to move are heading for the exits. Ancient Mesopotamian sculptures rise around Edward as he makes his way out of the exhibition hall, his footsteps echoing off the high ceiling. He can hear others running in the distance - Gothamites are too used to this kind of thing to scream, but from outside he hears the faint blare of car horns. The whole situation has a nostalgic vibe to it. He really should try to come here more often, possibly yearly, a pilgrimage of sorts.

A red-faced man lies prone in the doorway to the foyer. Edward steps over him carefully. Maybe a bystander, or one of Pamela’s temporary crew, who knows, he had been a bit out of it himself last time he was in this room.

At the security mirror next to the entrance he stops and takes a moment, while the guards are still indisposed, to smooth and neaten his hair. A small group passes behind him, well-dressed and walking fast, but very deliberately not running. It’s not that he looks a different person like this - red hair slicked back, clean-shaven, tailored blue suit - but he has stuck to the same look so diligently for the past three years that what he sees still surprises him. The slightest blush on his cheeks is the only hint of Pamela’s lingering poison. It doesn’t even look bad, hell, he looks great. He brushes down his shirt and shakes out his suit jacket, stepping out through the wide double doors.

The night is cool and bright on the steps of the museum. People mill around, talking animatedly and standing aimlessly. Enough sense to know to get out, but not enough to know what to do now it’s all over. He hasn’t collected his coat; it’s not worth waiting around for. He’s been regretting the purchase all day. He’ll buy another tomorrow, perhaps he can’t be the Riddler right now, but green is only a colour.

He pauses on the top step. Another crowd lingers by the gates to the street, staring down at a shadow they’re clustered around. So, another of Ivy’s victims, or this is Gotham, it could merely be an unrelated mugging. But best to take another route out of here. Not that he needs to worry about the cops - he’s clean as a new-born soap, but being interviewed for hours on end about someone else’s crimes isn’t his ideal end to a night out.

Something hits the ground behind him, hard. He’s back earlier than Edward expected. The glove that wraps around Edward's bicep is stained green, so Batman must have caught up with Isley, but it’s far too soon for the Bat to have fought and arrested her. “Well hello, Batman.” Edward shoots the Bat a brilliant smile he doesn’t stop to see. Gotham’s taciturn protector is dragging him back into the museum at a far faster speed than he would pull anyone else for questioning. “Back so soon? Where are we off to?”

“They don’t need to see this.”

A beating then. He stumbles in the Bat’s wake. “Don’t you have an actual criminal to catch, Detective? Or is that too great a challenge for you? Is it easier to harass her innocent victims?”

Batman shoves him into a janitor’s closet next to the entry doors. Edward’s back hits the wall with a thud hard enough to set the bare lightbulb swinging. Batman is only a little taller than him, even if his over-compensating physique and excess of armour give the impression of him being much larger, and shouldn’t really be able to loom over him like that. But he’s doing it, and in this small space that means he’s almost leaning into him. The cold bite of a Gotham winter radiates from Batman’s glove onto his chest and wet heat from his breath brushes against his cheeks and lips. Batman is breathing fast, like he’s exerted himself over and above losing a plant. Perhaps it had been too soon to leave after all, perhaps this night has more to offer. “Or maybe there’s something else you want from me?” He gives the Bat his sweetest smile again, since he can’t avoid seeing it this time.

“Innocent, you?” The disdain filling Batman’s voice suggests he’s unconvinced.

Batman’s fist is tangled in his shirt, a weight at his chest, and Edward tests the considerable muscle by pushing back as much as he can, which is basically not at all. “No, I suppose grasping that is a little beyond you, isn’t it? Riddle me this, Batman - it angers the gods to break me, to deny a welcome of bread and salt to suitors here temporarily - I was invited to this event, unlike you, and just like all those people out there whom you are not interrogating.” It’s true enough. He had no prior knowledge that Isley had plans for these business awards. And she had drugged him to get his help, though not too much, whatever her interrupted plans for him were she needed his faculties intact. So what if he could have gotten away twenty minutes ago and hadn’t? Not taking a risk is not a crime. Being bored is not a crime. And it says something for how boring this redemption game is that he would go along with being railroaded into one of Pamela’s schemes for a little action.

But of course, the Bat wouldn’t understand that. “Do you really believe if I were involved in this scheme you would have any chance of catching me? I came here to mingle with legitimate business contacts and instead I’ve been drugged, unwillingly involved in criminal activity - possibly putting my reform in jeopardy - and now the cherry on top of the guano cake, here you are. And yes, I know you’re not convinced by my continued efforts to be a model citizen, but you can ask anyone here, watch the security footage, even ask Ivy if you ever catch up with her, and you’ll find no evidence I was involved with this. So, sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t get to beat me to a pulp tonight.”

Batman’s hand shakes against him, and Edward realises the tension in the Bat’s body is an attempt to stop it. He’s having to control himself, having to stop himself hitting him, his more primal urges battling against his apparently unshakeable moral code. That’s… kind of hot. And typical, the Bat’s never been supportive of him. “You know, I’m not surprised you can’t keep that simple thought in your head. You’ve never been willing to give me the smallest chance. Not the first time, so why would I expect anything else the second? Not like Harvey, not even like Pamela and how did that work out?” Isley’s drug must still be affecting him, that’s a little more than he planned to say. Or maybe it’s that the Bat would usually shut him up long before he could voice these thoughts. Tonight, he hasn’t even interrupted his riddle.

Batman’s gaze drops to somewhere around his left shoulder, and Edward blinks in surprised sympathy. The grip on his shirt loosens and the other man looks distant, staring straight through him.

Was it something he said? Edward freezes, for a moment. “Well, anything to say?” He grabs the hand lingering at his shirt and attempts to push it away, stepping forward at the same time, probing for where this weakness has come from and what it means.

Batman’s hand snaps back, forcing him against the wall again. “I’m still deciding what to do with you, Riddler.” The customary snarl and glare are back, but they can’t cover whatever just happened. He had assumed Isley must have drugged the Bat, how else would he have got so close and still lost her, but Batman is generally able to shake her toxin off better than this.

“That’s not my name. As you may remember me telling you mere seconds ago, I’m reformed, and I’ve committed no crime here. I’ll be happy to provide a statement when the actual law enforcement arrive but that is all _._ You don’t get to do anything with me.”

No, this isn’t the toxin. Edward can tell Batman’s not listening, though paradoxically he does appear to have his full attention _._ Maybe what to do with him really is giving the Bat that much trouble, because he’s frowning at him like he’s a particularly difficult puzzle.

What is he missing here? Batman’s silence inspires him to break it. “Remember the last time we were here together? I have such fond memories of this place. After all, it was the scene of my greatest triumph, despite its lacklustre ending. Such a shame you’ll never have a chance to actually attempt to defeat me fairly now I’m an upstanding citizen.” The Joker. Something went down at the docks tonight; Edward had overheard some of the other partygoers talking about it while they tried to ignore him. One explosion, and innocents that they were they believed the Joker was dead, again. So, two fights in one night, and of course Batman’s mind is still half on that reprobate.

Suspicion fills him with a bone deep discomfort. He’ll think later that some part of him knew even then, saw the future unravelling out from a point earlier that night. Because none of Batman’s very surprising actions since have surprised him half as much as they should. And maybe because he doesn’t want to see it, he acts.

Batman is exhausted, distracted, and worst of all, not listening to him. And if he’s not drugged, he’s about to be. Edward leans forward, into his space. The poison still tingles on his lips from Pamela’s kiss. At first the Bat kisses exactly like Edward had expected, and not at all like he’s imagined, all stiff and resistant, no movement at all. But when Edward gets sick of kissing what is effectively a warm brick wall and tries to pull back, a strong hand keeps him in place.

Batman surges forward so suddenly that for a second Edward expects a bite not a kiss. He raises his hands to armoured shoulders in instinctive defence, but he doesn’t have time to push away before those hard lips grow softer and a tongue sweeps across his lips. He opens up and Batman kisses him deep, like he wants to drink him down. Lucky he’s a quick thinker, he kisses back like his life depends on it, like this might be his only chance to ever do it. The Bat is surprisingly good at this, even with all the fire in his kiss it is effortless to return it, to move with him. When Batman does pull back Edward can feel his lips burning again, can feel his mouth still open but can’t quite summon the wherewithal to close it, let alone to speak.

“You’re right Nygma. I don’t buy your reform. But I’ll give you one last chance to prove me wrong.”


	2. Chapter 2

One last chance? Who does he think he is? But before Edward could ask, Batman had knocked him out anyway. And then taken him to Arkham. And Edward had called his lawyer and been out in a few wasted hours. They had no reason to section him, no crime to charge him with. He had planned to press charges, but then…

The Joker’s dead. That’s easy to doubt, even with a very convincing corpse all over the news.

Poison Ivy’s dead, that’s easier to believe, if harder to stomach. He had always thought if the Bat cracked it would be the end of Joker, and then the end of the Bat.

On the drive home he receives a message from Selina, warning him to get out of town too. But he can’t leave now.

By the next morning Zsasz is dead, killed by Batman in front of witnesses, and rumours later to be confirmed are circulating about Waylon too.

When the Bat kills Firefly no one’s around to see, and judging by the charred remains that’s probably a good thing.

Ratcatcher’s death is quick, a gunshot to the head – not the Bat’s gun, but still.

Instead, it seems to be the end of just about everyone.

Well, not quite everyone. Mitchell Mayo is brought to Arkham with merely a few bruises. And Warren White apparently even gets to turn himself in. And, while Edward doesn’t like to put himself in the same category, Batman doesn’t come after him. He supposes this is it, his last chance.

In the coming days, the remaining Rogues lay low and the Bat fills the skies. More active than ever and more open in his patrolling.

The whole situation’s as exciting as it is terrifying.

He needs to know why. Batman snapped when he killed the Joker, that’s the general consensus from the people of Gotham, whether they support him or not, and most do. The obvious hypothesis. But why kill the Joker? Better question - why now?

His investigation takes precedence over the business meet-and-greets that have filled the last month, and it’s a welcome relief. He knew he was bored, but he hadn’t realised exactly how desperate his brain was to think about anything else.

(Because he thinks about the kiss too – a lot. He comes up with a thousand ideas and entertains a hundred explanations. A few he believes for a while, often coming as revelations in the middle of the night - the Bat is trying to trick him, is an imposter, just plain wants him - none sound convincing in the morning light. It’s left as an unsatisfying, unfinished thought, always spinning in the centre of his mind.)

There’s no puzzle he can’t solve. He’ll figure it out. He’s sure of it.

The Joker hadn’t kidnapped anyone, no elaborate set-ups, in fact there doesn’t seem to have been a set-up at all. That makes him wonder.

If something happened to the Bat before he met the Joker that night, and he decided to throw away his one rule, of course the Joker would be his first stop.

He can’t find any witnesses to what happened between Batman and the Joker in those final moments. The factory Joker used as a hide-out blew first from what little he can find out, and who did that? All, well, almost all, of the Joker’s goons are gone. A vagrant claims to have seen Batman stab Joker on the harbour wall, but disappears before Edward can get to him.

He’s made a decent stab at finding out legally – or at least semi-legally. But while this new Batman’s around his current plan is off the table anyway. Which leaves him with no incentive to keep his hands so clean.

Besides self-preservation, and he needn’t worry about Batman tonight.

It’s good to be back in costume. This version isn’t so far from the original. The mask’s changed, a simple green domino mask, better quality, and the hat’s a bowler – he guesses he never completely got over that cheap hat gibe. The suit’s a slimmer cut. Three years ago he had gone with a loose fit, hoping it would make him seem bigger. Well he’s even skinnier now, and over that. But the colours, he chose perfectly, first try.

He’s waited outside for his prisoner to wake, because making the right entrance is important to setting the tone. And here he can enjoy the sunset, and the night’s breeze. The grime of the unusually quiet streets below doesn’t reach this high, only the fresh clean air that travels over Gotham. But it’s time to go inside. He has a little over two hours.

An orange light leads him deep into the grey skeleton of a new Gotham apartment block. This one rises ten stories higher than the other buildings of this ‘up and coming’ area, high enough to give the two of them privacy. The smell of gasoline and paint fumes grows in the air, mingling with gritty dust thrown up from the previous day’s work. He has a floodlight set up in this room, and a battery. It’s deep enough inside the bones of the building that the warm orange glow is the only light, and the shallow breaths of the bound and gagged man are all he hears. The sole traditional piece of furniture is the white plastic chair the goon is tied to. An unassuming middle-aged man, more fat than muscle but plenty of both. The type of man your eyes would flick over on any villain’s crew. This man hasn’t worked for Joker for two months. He wasn’t at the harbour the night the clown died.

He was with Ivy’s crew that night.

Edward twirls his cane as he steps closer, for effect, and because he really enjoys twirling his cane. “So, Mr… Claude Monro, is it? You’re probably wondering what exactly has gone wrong in your life to bring you here. And you might find it difficult to pin down the specific incident. Because you’ve had quite the eventful life, haven’t you? Oh, no modesty, yes, on the surface it might look a little dull. Grew up in Gotham by the docks, father was a fisherman, apprenticed as an electrician, family man for the next thirty years. But you’ve never over-charged for replacing a faulty fuse, have you? Or worked as an electrician a day in your life.”

He pauses, as if to give Monro time to answer. Edward doubts he’d get a useful response even without the gag. The man’s expression shows no fear, only an anger unbefitting the nothing that’s been done to him, yet. Well, they have plenty of time. Even for this man, who he bets is experienced in torture from both sides, it won’t take long. Not with him. “You were a fixer for the mob for half your life. Which family?” He pretends to consult his imaginary notes. “Huh. Looks like all of them at various times. You get around. And as the Bat weakened the mob’s power, and you ran out of bosses you hadn’t met, you diversified. And how. You’ve worked for Penguin, Two-face, most recently Poison Ivy. Your longest stint was with the Joker. I’m surprised you haven’t worked for me at some time. And you’re good at what you do, aren’t you? You’ve never been to prison, never even been suspected of a crime. I have to say, your resume is impressive. I bet you’d have some stories to tell if I were to pick your brain. But, tonight, all I want from you is one answer. Who do you really work for?”

Edward steps forward and loosens the man’s gag. From the back, because this one looks like a spitter.

He’s right, as usual. Claude clears his throat and hocks a glob of phlegm onto the floor. How over-dramatic, he’s barely been bound an hour.

Edward waits, and he doesn’t have to wait long. Monro glares up at him in a way that must be supposed to be defiant, because it’s nowhere near intimidating. This time last year Edward would have been tired of it already, but he’s been on the straight and narrow long enough to appreciate this part of the game, even with some low-level thug. “You’re pathetic Riddler, a washed-up has-been.”

So far, so disappointingly predictable.

“Batman is going to kill you.”

There it is.

“Oh, you have no idea. How about a riddle? Even you should be able to figure this one out. I drift down long canals forever, multi-tasking to your aid, before I came the world was darker, colder, rougher true, but though I make living easier, I’m good at killing people too.”

“That’s easy, electricity. Didn’t need your riddle to solve that.”

“Hmm, you’re right.”

Some people have hard outer shells and rich deep inner lives. Others, you scratch the surface only to find more and more surface. Edward doesn’t know which this man will be. But he’s going to find out, soon. He walks away, to where the battery pack sits on the floor, wrapped in cables. “Mountains will crumble, and temples will fall. No man can survive its endless call. What am I?”

“Time.” Claude seems to have given up on the snark. Maybe he’s getting worried.

“Correct. You’re getting easy ones today, but very apt, if I do say so myself.” Time Edward has. Batman is now following his riddles from landmark to landmark in a circle around the city. They will eventually lead him to Gotham City Hall, around eight tonight, to join the candlelight vigil there. By then Monro will have talked, and Edward will be there waiting.

“Because that’s what you’re wasting, isn’t it? My time. Why don’t you get on with it?”

Edward takes a breath, and brushes dust off the top of the battery. Everything is going his way, so he shouldn’t be so irritated by some lackey talking back to him. Surely any other time this man’s words would mean nothing, but... Lately uncertainty seems to be creeping into his life at every opportunity.

Something’s wrong. He’s missed something.

He stands and tries to think, long enough that Claude calls, “Hey! Still there?”

He smiles at the hint of apprehension in the man’s voice, and picks up the cord. “Sorry, I’m keeping you waiting.” He’s never as sure he’s on the right track anymore. It’s a shame, but right now, he needs to get over it. This situation with Batman is his opportunity to grasp, a golden way to get back on top that he’ll lose if he hesitates to exploit. He has to brush away all doubt and focus on what he can learn from this man. “But then, you must be used to people over-looking you. You seem like such a simple guy. That’s how everyone sees you isn’t it? That’s what you-

He’s leisurely making his way towards Monro as he speaks, power cord in one hand and cane in the other, when he hears a series of beeps.

The sound cuts off. The east patrol drone: it had been heading this way. Not the alarm that would sound if someone or something entered the block, just an alert, something near enough the building to report. The alert isn’t supposed to stop on its own. He brings up his phone. The drone’s offline. They’re all offline. The entire security system of this building, both the original one he had taken over, and his own, which he had coated over it, is down.

Of course, he hadn’t only left one set of riddles. Once all were solved, once the circuit was completed, a simple answer was revealed, leading to city hall. But anyone clever enough to look a little closer could find another answer, one leading right here. But it’s far too soon. Batman would have only received the first riddle ten minutes ago. He physically couldn’t have completed the circuit yet.

But something is in the building with him, there’s a rush of wind from the nearest doorway, and a heavy body crashes into the next room. He runs. He’s underestimated the Bat. He had believed with that moment of absence and his brutal, simple actions, he wasn’t at his best. But this set-up isn’t simple. This plant, this building, all arranged to draw him in.

He glances back through the doorway as a shadow swings into the room. Simple as he isn’t, the look on Batman’s face is certainly brutal.

“Riddle me this! What dives to wield God’s hand, will destroy the truest love, and leave you with only a sheet to cover your shame?”

He doesn’t expect Batman to answer, but he does expect him to stop to untie the goon. That will give him a few seconds.

He checks his phone as best as he can while sprinting along the dark corridor. He might be able to get his drones, placed strategically around the building, to bypass the security systems, but no, the whole system is blocked. He can fix that if he can buy himself some time.

He sees a faint light ahead. The stairs. Up or down?

Down will be expected. Further along this floor is the yawning hole where the future elevator will be. He’s set up a rope he can rappel down for a quick exit. But both routes lead to the ground, where Batman can follow easily. This is a tall building. It’s possible that whatever the Bat’s using to block the signal can’t cover every floor. Jammer or not, if he gets to the top floor he can call in one of his larger drones. Once airborne no other buildings in this area are tall enough for Batman to rappel between, and he knows the Bat can’t actually fly.

Through the empty doorway he glimpses a wide window, allowing moonlight in and showing a few stars dotting the night sky. Then he’s on the concrete stairs, taking them two at a time.

Monro will be heading here soon himself if he doesn’t risk taking the temporary builders’ elevator. Either way he’ll exit onto Brewer street, then north into the city. If Edward gets the chance, he can arrange for someone to meet him. Now he knows who the man’s working for, he’s even more valuable.

He swings around onto the next landing. Metal crashes into the stairs behind him. He doesn’t stop to look; he’d recognise the sound of a Batarang anywhere. He clutches his cane tight.

“Batman, I’m willing to negotiate. I have information!” he shouts back and below, to where heavy footsteps are thudding up the stairs. It’s true. If the Bat takes him in, he will be heading to Blackgate, not Arkham, and a new challenge could be interesting. Plus, he has a tracker right here he has been itching to try out if he can get close enough.

“I gave you a chance, Riddler!” Batman growls, closer than he anticipated.

No way he can stay on the stairs with him so near. He dodges out of the stairwell into the next floor’s lobby.

He hadn’t expected this, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t planned for it. He pulls a small round piece of plastic from his pocket, presses it, tosses it behind him, and keeps running. The bomb explodes with enough force to shake the floor, but the deafening flash which Edward closes his eyes against is its main attack.

He hears crashing behind him. He’s gotten lucky, he sees, glancing back and stumbling to a stop. This place isn’t so well constructed, half the doorway has collapsed on the figure stooped below it, barely visible through the dark and dust. It won’t stop Batman for long though, which means he has a chance to take.

He runs at the figure and swings back the cane. But the Bat has always been superhumanly resilient, and Edward sees him look straight at him, can almost see his mind shaking off the blast, and at the exact last moment sees him dodge. He doesn’t see the fist though. It slams into the side of his head. His vision blacks out for a second, and he hits the ground hard, regaining enough of himself at the last moment to curl into a ball. The Bat is above him, but miraculously the cane is still in his hands, his grip on it as tight as any drowning man’s. He shoves it towards Batman’s legs, twisting it as the Bat steps over him. It works, Batman is thrown off balance and falling away as Edward stands. Hands grab at him to drag him back, but he is off, having to leave the cane to the Bat and his hat to the floor, but away. He would smile if he weren’t putting all his energy into running.

He’s through the door, up a corridor and into the next room before he hears sounds of pursuit. His urge to smile disappears. Tonight shouldn’t be like this. He should be in the middle of the interrogation, ready to change in an hour and make a leisurely journey to city hall for a friendly public meet-up with Batman as the reformed Edward Nygma.

He runs through a wide expanse of grey concrete, only the load bearing walls finished here. Leaving the room, he slides a disc across the floor, into the shadows by the wall. He’s memorised the layout of this place. The stairs are behind him, the other stairwell too far away to try for. Going over the balconies will be too loud, too exposed. His best bet is to find a quiet place, hack Batman’s system, and bring his own back online. He only needs a few minutes, but those minutes will be hard to win.

So he better get to it. The concrete in this room is broken by plywood panels, temporary walls. He dodges behind one, into the smallest space he can find, and pulls out his phone in the darkness the walls create.

A room away he hears his own voice, and a loud echoing thud. He hears the growl too, even from here. Batman is angry, is he losing control? It certainly seems he wants to hurt, rather than to talk. Hopefully just hurt. Even with the Bat’s recent bout of killings Edward hadn’t been too concerned – after all, Batman was intended to find this place later tonight, and of course he would know who was responsible, but with no body, and a victim who wouldn’t talk, what could he do? It’s not like Edward has killed anyone - not since his reform anyway - so he had bet on that keeping him safe. He could be wrong.

But he is right about the weak security on Batman’s system. He sees the opening and it makes his blood rush. He shields the phone’s bright screen with his body, he can’t afford to be interrupted now.

The wall behind smacks into his back, shoving him forward. A spurt of dust explodes next to his head. He fights to suppress a cough and turns to look. A blade sticks halfway through the still shuddering wood, less than an inch away. It glints in the reflected light from his screen. He goes rigid. Was that a hit or a miss? Either way he can’t spare the seconds he needs to break the system. He stands and a second Batarang thuds into the wood, closer than the first. It hangs embedded in the cracked wood for a second, before dropping through onto the concrete with a clang.

He runs. Between wooden boards, dodging around corners, through doorways leading deeper into the building. And unfortunately, losing the moon. He enters an almost pitch-black room. He slows his steps, trying to hear… nothing.

Ahead he sees a doorway, the black sky behind it slightly lighter than the rest of the room. It’s all he can see, the only source of light. It makes sense to go towards it, even as he stares around him into the shadows. He can’t sense anything here in the dark, but… he probably shouldn’t stand still, probably shouldn’t breathe, or run, or exist at all. He’s been careless, the Bat has excellent night vision. The only sound is the wind and his own breath. But no, that’s not the wind – a rush of fear jumps in him, and a jolt of excitement too.

He’s slammed across the room. He relaxes, bends his head to his chest, and breathes out, and as hard as he hits the concrete floor, he hits rolling. Scrambling away from the Bat, who has skidded to a stop where he hit him and is now just a shape in the dark. He ends up against the wall, sliding along it, getting closer to the doorway, keeping as much space as possible between him and the Bat striding steadily towards him. He gets close enough to the light to see the grim look on Batman’s face, only a foot away. Edward pulls his knife from his pants pocket and stabs it low, towards the Bat’s stomach.

Batman blocks it with an armoured forearm and grabs at the knife himself. For a second they wrestle for it, before Batman straight up slugs him in the side of the head, enough to set his vision slipping and ears ringing, and takes the blade from him. “Wait! Wait!” he manages to choke out, but the Bat stabs right at his throat, and he’s aware enough to know it would have hit if he weren’t already falling. The concrete scrapes beneath his hands as he seeks to steady himself. He sees the focus in the unchanging expression on the Bat’s face, hears the ringing sound of his knife being blunted on the wall, feels the ache in his legs as they catch his weight.

He’s going to die. He’s going to be killed by Batman. Shuddering cold flows out from his chest and all through his body, shivering through his mind. The thought sounds so wrong.

Jonathan had once accused him of being afraid of death, which made him laugh. Yeah, he’ll admit to that one. He’s far from ready to go yet. He hasn’t reached a tiny amount of his potential.

Blunt or not, the Bat raises the knife again, staring down at him, ready, perfect control. “Bruce! Don’t!” he shouts, voice sounding strange to himself.

And Batman hesitates. Edward had suspected, but hadn’t been sure until this moment. He breathes, quick breaths, and doesn’t move from his half-seated position at the Bat’s feet.

A hand tightens in his hair, pulling him up. It’s so tight he brings his hand to grip over it, trying to protect his scalp. The knife hovers close to his cheek as Batman raises him to eye level. “That’s not my name. Call me Batman.” The Bat slams him against the wall, but this close the impact isn’t very hard, and at least it allows Edward to regain his slipping footing.

“Batman doesn’t kill,” he says quickly. He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. Batman obviously does kill at the moment; he’s been proving it a lot these past weeks. Edward’s mind is running down several plans. A physical confrontation or breaking the hold and running is out for now. All he can do is talk, and hope Batman can be convinced. He keeps his free hand raised to shoulder height, mirroring Batman’s, which still holds the knife ready.

“I do what I have to. I’m through letting anyone threaten my city, Riddler.” The Bat’s showing his teeth. Maybe he was wrong about Batman being completely calm. Good, in that case he can play for time until he calms down. But he doesn’t like how he’s calling him Riddler. Batman always makes a point to use his name when talking directly to him. It’s one of his hypocritical little habits to fake intimacy, to pretend he cares enough to help even his enemies, when all he really wants is to beat you down. But he’s not pretending now.

“I’m not a threat-”

“Were you forced into this one too?” The Bat’s expression demands he answer quickly, and well.

“I wouldn’t have killed him. Check the current settings on the battery. They’re too low to cause permanent damage. You must know that. I just wanted information.” He falters halfway through when the knife presses into his throat.

“I gave you a chance, and this is what you’ve done with it. I can’t let you walk away this time.” The knife digs in a little further, breaking flesh.

“No, don’t! Take me to Arkham if you want but you don’t need to do this, please!” He tries to shrink back further as a line of burning hot blood trickles into the space between his collarbone and shoulder. That’s automatic, but he feels the drop in force behind the blade. He looks up at Batman, eyes wide and fearful, tears threatening to spill. It’s half an act – one he resents doing but which has proven effective in recent years – half completely genuine. Doing it for the Bat hurts more than for the others, who at least had the decency not to matter, but much less than that knife ending him. He refuses to die here, never knowing why.

Even this close he’s struggling to gage Batman’s reaction. At least the knife is pulled away, to hover between them, enough that it’s not actively slicing into him anymore. “If I send you to Arkham, you’ll come right back out, and I’ll have even more blood on my hands.”

“No, you can’t... you don’t know that.” The Bat bares his teeth again. He doesn’t like being argued with, and any plans Edward might have had of telling him that just maybe there’s something wrong with him die on his lips. He wouldn’t like that. That would be a bad idea.

He has to do something, distract him, change the topic. He has another skill he can use to get out of these situations and the Bat seemed to like it well enough last time. Batman is leaning close, crowding over him and Edward leans up to meet him, pressing up against the hand in his hair. Batman doesn’t push him away, doesn’t move at all. When Edward draws close his neck hits the blade, still between them, and the Bat doesn’t move that either, it digs into his throat as their lips brush. A touch is as far as he can go without cutting his own throat and he sinks back down.

Batman’s watching him again, carefully. “That’s the second time you’ve done that. Why?”

Edward resists the urge to praise Batman’s numeracy skills. “Don’t you like it?”

“Do you think it’ll save you?”

The fact he’s alive at all this long into the conversation points to some conflict on Batman’s part. He doubts this cold Dark Knight is going to be moved by passion, but - keep the conversation going. “That’s not an answer.”

“You don’t deserve to live.” The certainty in Batman's tone is more terrifying than the words. That fanaticism in his voice is as iron and unshakeable as the hand that rises to encircle Edward's throat, smearing blood across it, and pressing on his windpipe just enough to be uncomfortable. But otherwise the Bat remains still, eyes boring into him. Doesn’t take the final ending blow the words should herald. And now Edward is sure the Bat isn’t going to simply kill him. Batman will have something else from him. The blade still hovers close, in the corner of his eye. “If I allow you to then I… What would you do to live?”

He knows the answer to this riddle. “Anything.” But he doesn’t miss the hesitation in the question. Batman is on less certain ground here than when he was simply trying to kill him. He can exploit that.

He reaches out and cups the Bat’s groin. It’s disappointingly armour covered and hard and unyielding. He’s standing on the edge of a precipice, and what else can he do besides jump? “Would you like me to show you?”

The Bat’s expression doesn’t change, but the grip on his throat relaxes. He’s got it. Somehow, he has managed to take control, even in this situation. It’s hard to control his smile, even with a little shiver from the runoff adrenaline still rushing through him. So, he looks away, at Batman’s crotch, and sinks down. The concrete is cold and rough beneath his knees, grounding him.

Batman presses a button on his wrist and with a hiss some of the plates of his suit shift out of place. Edward is able to find a waistband now, under the belt, and pull it down to release the Bat’s gratifyingly hard cock.

It fits his hand well, heavy, thick, and so perfect he has to risk a look up at Batman to check this is real. Batman's face is grim, all firm lines. Edward tries to mask his uncertainty with a smile and those lines harden.

What part of this is the Bat into, him, the violence, his submission, the chase? Was he this hard all those other times? With the stoic Bat you would never know, until now. For all the times Edward has thought about this he’s never given much consideration to what Batman might actually like. Mostly because he believed it was nothing at all. But this cock says different.

He tries to slide his other hand under the fabric of Batman’s suit to palm his balls, but he’s blocked by the armour. Of course he is, the Batsuit was never designed for this, Batman was never supposed to do this. But here they are.

A bead of pre-cum is suspended on the tip of Batman’s cock, and Edward's curious to see what the Bat tastes like. He licks at the tip, and kisses, just his lips against soft skin. The cock jumps and he takes the end in his mouth, sucking hard at the tip and getting it good and wet. He smiles up at Batman, because that got a reaction before, and his smile grows more genuine when he sees the frustration on the Bat's face. This isn’t a good time to be messing around, but the Bat has scared him, and he doesn’t appreciate that. He’ll get him back later, but for now, he might as well enjoy this.

His eyes flutter closed when the gloved fingers fist in his hair. Batman forces him forward, and he relaxes to take the full length. Once he has, the grip eases, holding on just enough that he can feel it. If Batman wants submission, he can have it, as long as he keeps pulling his hair like that. The Bat’s expression isn’t giving much away, but he is looking, and his mouth is open just enough to see teeth, and Edward can hear his breathing. Maybe Batman is a simple guy, maybe he just likes getting his dick sucked. Edward hopes he’s not. He hopes it’s because of him. He hopes it’s where they are, who they are, and what they have been doing.

He tentatively reaches down and squeezes his own cock over his clothing. Batman doesn’t seem to care. Edward keeps most of his focus on his enemy’s cock, taking it down to the base each time, before coming back to give the tip attention.

He’s getting into a rhythm when Batman pushes his head away with a shaking hand. Edward looks up at the hard lines of his jaw. Not the right kind of frustration. “Get up,” Batman growls, and stands back.

“What’s wrong?” He feels the sting of failure before he is hauled to his feet. “Not enjoying yourself?” He raises an eyebrow at the still hard cock Batman is tucking back into his suit. He bites back any questions about Bruce Wayne’s virility, it really isn’t the time.

“There’s something you need to see.” Batman grabs his bicep and pulls him with him, walking out through the moonlit door and onto the open balcony of the unfinished building. “Move. You need to understand what you’re getting into, Riddler.”

Edward feels a twinge in his ankle as he walks, and another somewhere else. It’s not the first time he’s been pushed around with an erection by the Bat. But it might not be the first time for Batman either. Outwardly the Bat might look his usual cold self, but Edward can feel the energy thrumming through him.

“I’m not – you know, never mind.” The cool wind hits his reddened cheeks as they step out into the open air. It’s not soothing his erection any though, or the Bat’s from what he can see. He’s pushed against the waist-high railing, Batman keeping his grip on his arm. “What?”

“What do you see?”

Buildings. He stops himself from giving that answer to the Bat’s growl. “Gotham.” It stretches out before them, smaller apartment blocks across the street, then stacked towers growing higher, leading on to the shining lights of Gotham’s ever-active heart.

“Nothing,” Batman answers.

“Come on. It’s not that dark, I can definitely see some things. Isn’t that Wayne Tower? You can see your work from here, as well as from most of Gotham. And what’s that on the hill over there? Oh yes, Wayne Manor-”

“You owned the city once. And I took it back – I gave it back to the people.”

“How did that work out for you? Did they appreciate it?”

“Out of all my enemies you came closest to destroying the city. I can’t let that happen again.”

“Riddle me-”

“No. You haven’t done much lately, but you’ll always have the potential to do the same again. And you never stay in Arkham long, whether through escape or release.”

That’s unfair, if Edward hasn’t been able to execute anything of note since the takeover it is only because Batman watches and interferes so obsessively. And he would never repeat a plan. “Trust me Bruce, my best is yet to come.”

Batman releases his arm and raises his own and he half expects a blow, but it seems the Bat is sticking to his stream of thought. He gestures at the city laid out before them. “Look at it now. It’s calm, peaceful.”

That strikes him as the wrong description for any city, but it’s true, this is definitely a quiet night in Gotham, no explosions, no screams. Of course, this area being so quiet is mainly down to him - a gang fight in rival territory, a neighbourhood-watch led protest at city hall, a lottery win for a night guard - those should have been enough distractions to ensure him a peaceful evening. And it certainly isn’t as quiet out there as it seems from way up here.

“I want it to stay this way.”

He strains his ears. “I think I hear sirens…” Are they heading this way, and if they are, who are they coming to save?

“I want you to understand why I’m doing this. Why I have to. Do you?”

He won’t hesitate, it’s not that he doesn’t understand, just that there isn’t a way to say this that is good for him. “Because what you were doing wasn’t working. Isn’t that the colloquial definition of madness, to keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect a different outcome? And you don’t consider yourself insane. So, you’ve decided to finally do it. Simply get rid of every threat to Gotham’s peace. Like-” Like someone else. Like someone who is not Batman. “It makes sense, in a brutal, single-minded, impossible to ever actually accomplish way. However, I would argue that I-”

“Look at it,” Batman interrupts him. But Edward doesn’t look at the city, he looks at the Bat. And his complaints about the interruption die away in a little huff from his lips. Batman looks enamoured, almost dreamy. Maybe that’s what happiness looks like on him. “Gotham on a Friday night. It hasn’t been like this in years. All those years trying to help, and I only ever made it worse. This was what I should have done from the start. All I ever needed to do.” It’s the city he talks about, not the people, that means something.

The sirens have long since disappeared. “We had a deal.” A mostly unspoken one, but a deal, nonetheless. No one gives a blowjob to someone who is just going to kill them anyway. But the Bat has always been a liar and a cheat. It’s the fact he would offer a deal in the first place that he should be surprised about, not the fact he would renege on it.

“Gotham is my responsibility. So are you. If I had let Joker or Isley live, knowing it would only be days before they were free from Arkham to terrorise the city, the responsibility for every death they caused would have been mine as much as theirs. If I let you go, I am responsible for every citizen you hurt, every life you take.”

“You’re kind of a control freak, aren’t you? So, what’s the plan?” He looks around for a way out, but that’s not where his mind is. The blade in his jacket pocket, his last line of defence. It’s small, but close. “Lie to me, use me, and then kill me anyway? Gotham’s great hero.”

Edward goes for the knife, but Batman is quicker, grabbing his wrist and bunching a fist in his shirt and shoving him up and back first over the railings. There’s nothing behind him but air. He tries to dig his heels into lowest rung as he slips over, misses, and grabs for the Bat with his legs instead. Then he’s over, but there’s no rush of wind as he drops. The Bat keeps him anchored in the air, one fist gripping tight onto the collar of his shirt and jacket. It’s always impressed him how strong the Bat is, and now he’s holding his whole weight one-handed. It’s hard to tell whether that grimace is effort or for effect. The other hand is still holding his wrist to keep his right hand away from the blade, which he is still trying to reach for even though it isn’t much use to him right now. His left hand grips onto Batman’s restraining wrist for dear life. Somehow, at some point, the Bat's armour or glove has shifted, and he can feel the thinnest line of warm skin beneath his index finger.

“I could. It would be easy. You’d have a quick death from this height. All I have to do is let go.”

He doesn’t want a quick death, he wants a glorious death when he’s ready, and that’s not now, and not what this would be, his body broken on the street below, and no mystery as to what happened. “At least have the guts to do it yourself, you coward.” He gets a firmer grip around the Bat’s waist with his legs, heels scraping across and digging into the armour at his back, and pulls his lower body up and onto the top rail, and the Bat closer to the railings, with a jerk. Batman’s abdomen hits hard against his ass, and his utility belt jabs against his tailbone.

Batman pulls him higher too, so they are face to face. “Or I could let you live, knowing what you’ve done, what you’re capable of…” he growls out, inches from his mouth, “If I do, if I spare your life - your life is mine. You are mine.” And Edward’s not sure how to react to that. Pretty certain he’s got the right idea. But not at all sure. He’s balanced against Batman now, his erection pressed against his abs. Which rub against him as the Bat breathes, just a little. Neither breaks eye contact. The Bat’s jaw goes even firmer, if possible, eyes laser focused on his. It’s tempting to just say yes to whatever Batman offers and see what happens, his mind is shying away from any thought besides what he can feel and what he could be feeling.

But nothing about this situation is right. He knows – if he weren’t so aroused right now, if this weren’t Batman, if his abs weren’t so firm against him – that would be easier to see. And he can reach the knife now. He lets go of the Bat’s wrist and pulls the knife from his pocket with one smooth movement. Slices it across the exposed skin of Batman’s wrist and pivots to the side. Batman’s grip loosens enough for the fabric of his shirt to slide with him and he is free, hitting the balcony floor hard and jumping up, adrenaline forcing each movement pinpoint tight. But the moment he hits the floor he’s lost. He didn’t get enough of that element of surprise, that one in a million lucky shot, and the Bat is already turning towards him.

He slashes at Batman, attempting to dodge past, towards the door. The blade doesn’t connect, but the Bat’s fist does, knocking him to the floor. As Batman leans over him Edward goes for his throat with the knife. He actually does manage to nick the Bat's chin, so intent is the Bat on his goal. He might win a tiny battle, but he’s lost a long war. Batman grabs his hand and presses back the fingers holding the knife, until he drops it with a yelp. Then drags him to his feet and crowds him against the railing. “Last chance.”

Foolish to get into a physical fight with the Bat. Not like him. Obviously, tonight’s events have shaken him. He needs to think, not act. And thinking about it, there’s only one obvious course of action.

Edward grips his injured fingers in his other hand, flexes them. On any other night they would be broken, and the Bat would have knocked him out with that punch. He’s being gentle. Bastard. But then, the Bat’s unarmoured groin would have made a better target for the knife than his wrist. “Why make a deal? You’ve won. If there’s something you want, take it.”

“Yes or no?”

“What happens if I agree?”

“What do you think?” Batman presses a hand against Edward’s throbbing cock and Edward can only just not moan. The physical contact is a shock, it’s so unusual for him to feel like a part of his brain needs to catch up. It’s almost as exciting as Batman’s touch.

It’s a terrible choice and also a no-brainer. Death or being the Bat’s prisoner? Plaything? It’s ridiculous – he, the smartest man in Gotham by far, reduced to… But what better way to get closer to the questions he wants answered? And the Bat will fuck him, hopefully now. He presses closer to Batman, chasing the feeling when he pulls his hand away. “And what’s in it for me?” Edward’s not sure why he’s playing for time. To save face?

“You get to live.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m not going to choose death, am I?” And it only has to last as long as he wants – after all, no trap can hold him. Because it looks like the Bat might have more to say Edward reaches up, grabs the back of his cowl covered head, and leans in for a kiss.

Weirdly, with all that’s happened, it’s when their lips meet that the first tendrils of panic creep in. A sort of ‘is this actually happening, are you really sure?’ disassociation he associates with solitary and the middle of the night. It’s a relief when Batman kisses back hard, pressing into his mouth like he wants to mark him from the inside. And it reminds him that this is a fight, a game that’s only beginning, no matter how much the Bat might think he’s won.

He’s always been good at sleight of hand, and Batman is intent on getting as much of his tongue into his mouth as possible. Still Batman notices him raise his hand, watches it all the way. But the tracker is very, very small. He touches the Bat’s cheek gently, tracing his fingers back and pressing under the cowl. He kisses deeper, and digs his nails in to the sensitive skin just under the ear, and if the sting bothers the Bat, he doesn’t show it.

Batman’s hands are at Edward's waist, undoing his belt, spinning him round, hands on hips pressing him forward. The hands fall away, and the Bat presses in closer, chest against his back, keeping him flush against the railings. He has to hold on and push back to give himself space as Batman pulls his pants and underwear roughly down, to pool around his mid-thighs. His cock springs free and it’s just the right height to hit the top rail.

He hears a rummaging behind him as he looks out over the skyline. They are high, and no one’s on the street, but still, anyone could look up from the buildings across from them and-

A cold finger presses at his entrance. It slides in, still gloved, enough lube to make it easy on him. Still it’s quickly joined by another, and a third, quick enough to make him grip the railing hard. Either the Bat is impatient or doesn’t particularly care if he hurts him. What a shock.

Edward focuses on holding still. As soon as the fingers are removed Batman is pressing in. He knows what to expect, but the stretch still takes his breath away. He bites his lip hard to suppress any sound, but still can’t help letting a small gasp escape. Maybe because of that Batman pauses, sheathed deep inside him. He tries to force himself to relax, to breathe out, but he’s too keyed up. He can’t wait here, let the Bat think that this is in any way an appropriate time for kindness, or that he needs any at all. He presses back against the Bat’s groin, trying to force that cock in deeper than is even possible. It burns like hell, but it has the desired effect. Batman thrusts forward and grabs his hips, pulling him back further.

The Bat reaches a rhythm quickly. Each time Batman thrusts into him it’s like his whole body is going to slam through him. If the blowjob was to test his submission, this is claiming. It hurts and it’s good, the fullness, the drag, the sensation, the situation, is overwhelming. He whimpers, just a little. It’s pointless trying to keep himself quiet, he’s never been that good at it, and in this situation it’s a lost cause. A gloved hand grips at his throat, not choking, just tight enough for Edward to feel his breath struggle slightly beneath it. Batman’s breath is loud and hot, hitting right behind his ear.

Edward’s knuckles are straining white on the railing with the force of pushing himself back against Batman’s thrusts. One especially hard thrust and the tip of his unprotected erection smacks against the railing. Now that just hurts, and if he’s not diligent about pushing back it’s going to get really uncomfortable. If he had his hands free he could push this over the line from pain to pleasure easily.

“Can I touch myself?”

“Yes,” Batman says, apparently thinking he’s asking for permission.

“Will you - wait a -” It’s frustrating to have to search for words between the thrusts, but he wriggles forward, and Batman relaxes his hold enough Edward can move. He steps up to stand on the lowest rung of the railing, so his hips sit above the top rail, and his cock too. It’s harder to balance, one hand on the rail, and even more exposed, but at least he can touch himself. Batman follows him, never pulling out as the angle changes, not even fully stopping his thrusting. Edward's impressed, but as he wraps his fist around his own cock most of his mind is focused only on sensation. Batman grips him with one arm around his waist, the other on his hip, thrusting up into him, and it hits the perfect spot.

He knows he’s getting loud, doesn’t especially care.

Batman pulls him down with the arm around his waist, further onto his cock, so he can’t even bounce on it. “What do you want?” he growls.

“You - harder,” Edward gasps. He wants a lot of things, but right now, mostly more. But the pace, both of Batman pounding up into him and his own hand on his cock is too fast to last, and when the Bat fists a hand in his hair and pulls to tilt his head back, he comes hard.

Batman pulls off Edward’s mask, releases his hair, and tosses the mask over the balcony. Edward watches it fall to the ground far below with the last spurts of his cum.

He falls back when Batman pulls him, landing against his chest. Falling into his enemy’s arms feels embarrassingly safe, muscles loose and heart still thudding. He lets his head rest back against his shoulder. Batman has only slowed his thrusts, still inside him. “Knew you’d love this - that’s why I chose you.” His breath is warm next to his ear. He sounds so pleased Edward thinks he might kiss him.

Instead, Batman stands him up and pushes his shoulders forward, bends him before railing, “Hold on.”

If Edward thought the Bat was going hard before, it has nothing on now. He can only focus on staying upright, aided by the tight grip of Batman’s hands on his hips. It isn’t long before he feels heat inside him, and Batman comes with a small sigh.

Edward stays still as Batman pulls out. In his post orgasm clarity, he realises he’s on shaky ground. The Batman he knows would definitely be regretting his actions right now, and this new Batman would certainly be ready to kill him if he’s changed his mind.

But Batman just sorts his suit out, and then reaches for Edward’s pants, breaking Edward out of his contemplative freeze to take the fabric from him and do them up. When he’s ready the Bat grips his bicep in one hand, pulls him round and walks him away like nothing’s happened.


	3. Chapter 3

His mind buzzes through the drive – The Bat has fucked him. Almost killed him. He is alive, so that the Bat can fuck him again. The actual Batman. Who is right here, next to him. Who is also Bruce Wayne. Who therefore also wants him. Okay, Batman’s into him, he can understand that, he’s gorgeous, and he’s always had a thing for the Bat, and for Bruce too, he supposes, so it makes sense it’s mutual. But, still… that happened. And of course he needs to keep a close eye on the man in the seat next to him.

So maybe that’s why he misses the entrance to cave. The car disappears downwards into darkness and he’s not sure where they are. He stopped watching the road a while back without even realising it, of course the route they took out of Gotham made their destination clear – Wayne Manor, but what part of the grounds is this –

“Relax, Edward.” It’s the first words Batman has said to him on the drive, the first words either have said since the Bat ignored his riddles as they set off. If it’s intended to be soothing it’s not, if even the Bat can see how on edge he is, he’s in trouble.

They travel through a well-lit stone tunnel and Edward forces himself to take regular breaths, focus on his surroundings. For a second, and then a cavern opens up ahead and he doesn’t need to anymore. “Oh God, it’s an actual cave?”

The cavern stretches high above. Bright lights embedded in the ceiling light up as the car travels towards a platform on a rocky outcrop. Similar platforms are dotted throughout the cave, various tracks and walkways running between them. Between them the floor falls away, and Edward glimpses dark water far below. The Batmobile stops on a platform containing various land vehicles. Directly ahead a short set of stone stairs leads to a heavy door in the cave wall.

Edward tries his door, and finds it locked. He rolls his eyes as Batman gets out, and looks out at the cave through tinted windows. “So, this is it, your base – and your home, Wayne Manor. We’re directly underneath aren’t we?” he asks as the passenger door is opened. They haven’t driven deep, and he bets this cave connects to the manor, most likely through that door up there. “I mean a cave; I should have guessed. You don’t have the imagination to pull a bat theme out of thin air.” He smiles wider, looking up at Batman, and it’s not fake this time. Because here he is in the Bat’s home, in the Batcave.

“Come on,” Batman grabs his arm to direct him, yet again, and pushes him forwards. Edward doesn’t bother to complain, he has bigger things on his mind. Steps carved into a narrow jut of rock wind up to the next set of levels of the cave, with nothing but space below. Fortunately, Edward’s always had perfect balance. As they walk, he takes in every inch of the cave, memorising each stone, the spaces in between. After all, he might have to leave in a hurry. They climb past two more doors like the first, set into the wall on rock platforms nearby, thick, aged wood, old-fashioned compared to the rest of the fittings, but very appropriate for a cave. But neither of them have the same electronic locks. Virtually all the space is accounted for, to the left a platform houses mainly generators, and on another various trophies are stacked against the wall.

“What’s with the dinosaur?” Edward asks, but Batman ignores him. They walk across one long platform, this one hanging from the ceiling, connecting many others. The cave floor below is shiny black water, apart from an island of stone filled with tables, chairs, and a computer with an enviable number of screens. “So, did you actually manage to solve any of my riddles tonight? Or was it a relief to you that you could just cheat, and not have to tax your brain?” He’s partly asking because even though Batman knows he’s looking around at the cave, he doesn’t want him to know just how closely, and partly because he hid some good riddles in that puzzle.

“It’s not important.” That rankles a bit, but for once Batman might have a point. The Bat himself bringing him here – he could never have expected, never have even hoped for a mistake like this. This isn’t an opportunity, this is a gift, and Edward can’t wait to own this place. He practically dances up the last set of steps onto a solitary platform. This one is smaller than most, set against the wall in the back of the cave, and it only has this one walkway connecting it. And only has one thing on it, something he hadn’t been able to identify from across the cavern – a large clear glass or plastic upside-down-jar-like thing, attached to a hinge and pulley system hanging out of the wall.

Edward looks back at Batman. “You’ve been planning this for a while.”

“I think it’s simple enough to keep you contained.”

Edward doubts it, but it’s just the cage and stone beneath it. It doesn’t look comfortable. “Don’t I get to clean up first?” The walk has reminded him that he hasn’t had a chance to wash. His pants are going to be ruined.

Batman looks at him, as though considering. It’s times like these that remind Edward that as smart as Batman may be, the fact the Bat’s outwitted him in the past owes a lot to luck, and to certain unfair advantages.

“Fine.” While the Bat is, as ever, hard to read, Edward gets the impression he had been ready to get rid of him, which does not impress him. Nonetheless, Batman gestures back the way they came. They don’t have to go far. Across the narrow walkway and on the opposite wall two doors are set into the stone. One has the electronic lock that Edward’s already looking forward to cracking, and the second is the bathroom.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Edward tells Batman, who simply closes the bathroom door behind him, leaving him to get cleaned up. For once Edward doesn’t mind being ignored, much. It’s a relief to have a moment alone – a foolish move on Batman’s part, but what’s new. The bathroom is spartan in its contents, but still manages to be understatedly luxurious. The bathtub is the size of a hot tub, all white marble and jets. The lights are bright, but a dimmer makes them more relaxing. There’s also a shower, toilet, basin with a mirror above, and a small cabinet on top of that, all fittings the quality he would expect to find in the main manor, the only hint that this room isn’t is the relative bareness of the walls and small floorspace. He can’t see any cameras at first glance. Batman’s willingness to leave him alone suggests their presence, but he doesn’t get the impression this room is supposed to be for anyone besides the Bat (or at least for anyone he doesn’t trust – it’s spotlessly clean, and he can’t imagine the Bat scrubbing floors). Until now at least.

He showers quickly but thoroughly, not sure if he’s on a timer. He finds towels in the cabinet. As he dries, he examines himself in the mirror. He has a red mark on his jaw, and bruises are already forming over his arms and legs. The cut on his throat is not as deep as he feared, too shallow for stitches. Because of its location, in the crease between neck and jaw, it would be hard to dress and might scar anyway, but no one’s going to see it.

He searches the bathroom cabinet. On the shelf above the towels he finds a few toiletries and a first aid kit with antiseptic, which he uses on the cut. And razors, which he doesn’t touch, of the dozen or so plans which have passed through his mind since he arrived, the ones involving a physical attack on Batman are the weakest. He simply won’t need a weapon.

Batman knocks, and walks in without waiting. Edward is almost dry and is finishing up his hair. He makes no attempt at modesty; the Bat knows what he’s getting into walking in on him. If Batman is interested, he doesn’t show it, just waits by the door, half leaning on the frame, impassive and, dare Edward think it, a little impatient. He notices Edward’s clothes, folded in a neat pile by the door, picks them up, and without looking chucks them out into the cave.

“Hey!”

Batman holds his hand out for the towel, which Edward has dropped from his head in indignation. He supposes he isn’t getting any drier, and hands it to him. “Those will need to be dry-cleaned.”

Batman just takes the towel and heads out the door, tossing it to the side, presumably onto the same pile as the clothes. He holds the door for Edward, not even bothering to look back at him. It’s cold walking out from the steamy warmth of the small room into the cave. The temperature is likely to be the same as the average annual temperature of the land around Gotham, possibly a degree or two higher considering the number of generators and vehicles stored here. So about 55f. Not especially comfortable.

“So, what should I call you?” Edward refuses to put his arms around himself as he follows the Bat over the platforms, or show any discomfort in any way. Batman’s tactics are hardly complex – take his clothing to show him how vulnerable he is, how little control he has over his situation – but mind games haven’t worked on him for a long time.

“You know my name.”

“I mean Master, Sir, Batman, Bruce?”

Batman shrugs, but doesn’t look back. “Your choice.” Shame he didn’t take that razor, this would be the perfect time for an attack.

Edward sees the time on the computer monitor below as they pass over the walkway. “The meeting at city hall’s starting soon. You’re not going to miss it are you?” Batman may not have finished his riddles but even he should be able to guess he had something planned. Of course, it’s not an actual bomb. “Such a shame, I was going to meet you there.” It would have been wonderful to see Batman’s reaction, after all in leaving a few riddles he had technically committed no crime. And he would have slipped the Bat a hint about the real crime scene. By the time Batman reached it nothing would be left to link back to him, and only a victim that if tracked down, was far too invested in Gotham’s criminal underworld to talk. But the Bat would have known, and it would have been the start…

It would be nice to see a reaction now. He’s still looking at Batman’s unresponsive back, and he doesn’t get any impression the Bat's listening at all. Something in the set of Batman’s shoulders bothers him, because he hasn’t seen it before. And he’s watched the Bat intently before – he knows the smallest movement can speak volumes in the Dark Knight, because that’s all the warning you get. If it were anyone else, he would say they were tired - is this where all this weirdness is coming from, overwork? He’s reminded of that night back at the museum, the night they kissed, he raises a hand to brush his lips with his fingertips. That second when Batman just wasn’t there. He doesn’t know, yet. But he’ll find out. One game is over. And a new, even more interesting one is beginning.

As they approach the cage, he sees a bundle of blankets on the floor. A bottle of water too, so he’s going to be expected to stay here for a while. The cage is already lifted, enough for him to walk under without stooping. When the Bat lowers it with him inside, he watches the mechanism work and doesn’t try to hide that he does, it would be more suspicious if he didn’t. The cage thuds down when it connects with the stone. Batman doesn’t look back as he walks away. Edward is having to control his shivering, and the urge to pick up the top blanket on the pile is strong, but he doesn’t, just stands and watches until the Bat leaves through the locked door on the opposite wall.

…

He wraps a couple of wool blankets around himself, and manoeuvres the thick sheepskins he’s been provided with into a makeshift mattress. He sits on top of the pile and sinks in. It’s not what he expected, but considering what he expected, it’s not so bad. From this vantage point he examines the cave, resisting the urge to stand, to explore every inch of the space available to him, to find this prison’s weaknesses, exploit them and step outside its walls. Batman’s not dumb enough to not have cameras trained on this cage, and will get nothing out of him tonight.

As he warms up that strange numbness from before is uncurling – a feeling from the base of his mind that can barely be described in words – did that really happen? And it’s being replaced by a rounding, savouring – yes. He can feel the bruises on his hips as well as the usual ones, and the sting in his ass. And here he is – the feeling turns into a victorious thing that makes him want to jump up, shout to the cavern’s heights with joy. He’s done it, something he didn’t even dare to know he was trying to accomplish, but here he is.

All those times he had been so close to success, and at the last moment the Bat had flown in, all those plans ruined, all those dreams ground into the dirt - Batman has just solved all his problems by bringing him here. When the time is right, all he’ll need is to do is push.

But before he destroys the Bat he needs to know why.

Edward thinks of the set of Batman’ shoulders as he left, that moment of vulnerability back in the museum.

He had a plan if he ever got inside the Bat’s hideout, but it doesn’t matter now. His recent plan, publicly reform, and unmask the Bat without committing a crime, doesn’t mean anything now. It was a good idea, and he gave up a lot for it – but it’s still not as good as this random opportunity.

And doesn’t that say it all?

He missed pinpointing the entrance. That moment of weakness flashes up and makes him clench his eyes closed. It hardly matters, he knows where he is, near enough. But it sounds like someone else’s voice telling him that. Because the person he once was, the him he wants to be, would never have needed to console himself over something so simple. He pushes the thought away. These negative emotions have been too easily getting the better of him over the last few years, and he has more important things to focus on right now.

That pent-up energy finally gets him standing and he walks two steps to pick up the water bottle. That’s all he has; the cage is just long enough for him to lie down, without even a foot of space either side. The water tastes normal at first sip, well why wouldn’t it? The Bat has no need to drug him, he’s done everything he wanted. He takes a quick look around, circling within the clear wall, but there’s not much he couldn’t see before. If he looks down, he can see the cave floor between gaps in the platform, but not the computer, the cage isn’t close enough to the edge of the platform. On another lower platform is a stand with human-shaped frames, doubtless for the Bat’s armour, all empty now. Taking those with him might be the smartest decision Batman’s made tonight. He doesn’t touch the cage wall, though he wants to. He brings the water bottle back to his bedding.

Sitting, he can only see the top level of the cave and the ceiling. Nothing stands out to him that he missed before. Below and behind him is the main entrance, leading out into the grounds of the manor. And it’s safe to assume the door Batman left through exits to the manor. He’ll bet there’s another entrance, but he can’t find it from here. On the walkway he had glimpsed the shape of a boat floating deep in the back of the cave, so there must be a connection to the bay.

There are no actual bats. How does the Bat keep them cleared out, some kind of sonic wave, or poison? He wants to own this place, to explore every part of it, and know how it fits together, from the computer system to the cleaning schedule. And he will. All in good time. He can plan, but it’s impossible to decide on his next action without being able to fit the Bat into the plan. And right now, Batman is unpredictable. He has to wait, gather more information. He can be patient.

He does, however, need an escape route. Just in case Batman changes his mind about him or has worse aims he can’t see yet. The cage is harder than if it had a door, but all he has to do is get command of the controls on the outside. Easy once he gets access to the computer, he’ll only need minutes. Or he could find a pivot point. Pressure in the right place could weaken and send whole crane mechanism splashing into the water below. The cage is a polycarbonate, not about to shatter, even clunking down onto this hard stone night after night. But nothing’s indestructible and the rock below it is never perfectly even. He can just make out tiny holes at the top of the cage, to allow airflow, tiny weaknesses.

Once he’s out he has a well-stocked undiscovered base from three years ago he can hide out in. And once there, he can sit in his bunker for the next decade kicking himself for missing a once in a lifetime opportunity.

The night is still early. He expects Batman will leave him for a while to settle – in the same way as is traditional for new inmates in Arkham – and come back in the morning or tomorrow night. Hopefully the morning, for his bladder’s sake. Or the Bat might have gone back out to the city. The tracker’s on him, and if Edward can hack into his computer, and he knows he can, he can use it to keep tabs on him, but that hardly seems the best use of this opportunity. Could he call Batman? The cage’s walls are clear and empty, but he bets there’s an alarm to alert him, an intercom seems likely. But he doesn’t try.

He sits still long enough for the lights to flicker off. He stands and they turn back on, a line of light spreading over the cave. He experiments with them over the next hours, between discarded plans and fleeting ideas. Testing the twenty-minute timer before they go off, and exactly how much motion it takes to activate them.

Later he’ll lay down for a few hours, but not to sleep. If Batman’s watching maybe it’ll put him at ease, or maybe his tech is advanced enough to know he’s not actually sleeping. Maybe in the morning he’ll find out.


	4. Chapter 4

He can’t lie around not sleeping anymore, so he’s sitting cross-legged, wide awake and ready for the day, when Bruce enters the cave. He sees Bruce looking and stretches and yawns, letting the blanket slip from his shoulders and down his chest, going for eye contact though they’re a little too far apart. Bruce looks, for a second, then heads down the stairs. He carries a tray, covered in what Edward assumes is food, and what looks suspiciously like a bucket.

Edward stands and watches Bruce descend to the cave floor. It’s strange to see Bruce, it’s still hard to reconcile him as Batman, and the fact they are the same person doesn’t sit easily in his mind, even if logically, now he really thinks about it, it makes a lot of sense. In fact, he can’t understand why he didn’t consider it for so long, or why he was so reluctant to believe it once he did.

The last time he saw Bruce was at a Jasper Asher party, only the day before his encounter with Batman at the museum. Wayne had thrown a snide greeting at him in passing, and then left early, and he hadn’t gotten to go over and speak to him like he wanted. Possibly his presence was the reason Bruce had left. He likes that idea. He hadn’t noticed anything unusual in the way Bruce behaved, just the usual smiling playboy routine with a discreet line of people waiting to hang on his every word. Today, Bruce looks like a casual version of how he looked that night, sweatpants and tight white t-shirt showing that his suits must be tailored to disguise just how broad his chest is. His eyes are striking, even from all the way up here, his features pleasantly chiselled, his expression – Bat lite.

Sadly, it was probably his feelings for the two men that had blinded him to the truth. He had thought of each of them separately so often, and for so long. He had always expected that with such strong personalities they’d fall out eventually. And he could get one of them, if not on his side, into a position to play against the other.

…

It is, unfortunately, a bucket. He hopes his look of disdain as Bruce slides it under the rising plastic says more than words ever could, but he does tell him he’s never going to use it as well. Bruce just looks at him, unimpressed, and for an instant it’s easy to believe he’s Batman.

He considers taking a blanket, but he’s already dropped it while Bruce approached, and he saw him looking, so he sticks with that and goes naked to the bathroom. At the door Bruce hands him a couple of things, soap, toothpaste, even a toothbrush – the blade of the penitentiary – and steps inside for a moment to remove the razors, in a way that’s probably supposed to be subtle. Edward washes quickly enough that he has to stop after, and stand still for a few minutes, listening to see if he can hear Bruce waiting outside the door, because he doesn’t want to appear too eager.

Eventually Bruce knocks. “Are you finished? There’s food downstairs.” The first words he’s said to him this morning. Bruce seems a little less sure of himself than Batman, or maybe that’s just because he can see his face.

He follows Bruce down through the cave. As they approach the island at the base of the cave the air becomes warmer. Once seated at a long table with benches the temperature is almost comfortable. Bruce must have turned the heating on when he came in, which Edward supposes is better than nothing, but also reinforces the fact that he isn’t getting anything to wear. And there’s certainly no set of freshly laundered clothes set out and waiting. There is however a tray with juice, poached eggs, pastries, fruit, everything he would have chosen for breakfast. It’s slightly worrying that Bruce knows exactly what he’d want, and that he’d offer it up. What is he trying to say with this?

Bruce sits across from him. He produces the kind of pill box that elderly people use to keep track of the days and sets it in front of Edward as if it’s supposed to mean something to him.

Edward takes a drink of orange juice and raises his eyebrows.

“These are yours.” Bruce opens the box like Edward might be confused about what it contains. And that’s a lot of meds.

Edward looks over the pills with a bucket level of disdain. “I don’t take them.”

Bruce sighs. “You probably should. I’ll keep a supply in case you change your mind.” But he closes the box.

Edward doesn’t bother to say that’s not going to happen, between bites of food. “You don’t need to stay in for me.”

“Who says I am?”

“Riddle me this – what travels around the world but stays in one place – not you.”

What a surprise, Bruce ignores him. Edward watches him while he eats, and occasionally Bruce will glance his way, but fairly soon he seems to slip from marking time to being genuinely deep in thought. What else he can have on his mind?

Edward takes advantage of the quiet to look around. Does the Bat get Wi-Fi down here or is the computer deliberately not connected? Hopefully he’ll see how Batman uses it before he gets a turn. This table gets dustier as it goes along, obviously the Bat has a preference for sitting in one place over cleaning.

The food's almost finished, and this is boring.

“So, Bruce Wayne is Batman, huh?”

“Yes.” Bruce does at least look at him at that, though he doesn’t seem eager to add anything more to the conversation.

Edward brings one leg up, crossing it over so his foot rests on the opposite knee. Well Bruce isn’t keeping him naked for no reason, is he? If he wants easy access, he can see he’s got it. Bruce does watch, and Edward keeps talking because he wants to keep that attention. “I’m impressed. You faked it very well, and you fooled everyone, didn’t you? A couple of appearances for both of you in the same place, but nothing that can’t be accomplished with actors, or holograms. And admitting you were working together, that was smart, throws people off the scent. But most of all, people believe what they want to believe, don’t they? And who wants to believe their hero is some unstable, over-privileged kid? Personally, I always imagined you had to work together to solve my riddles. So, well done, I suppose.”

You’d think he’d react to praise like that, but no, nothing. The look on Bruce’s face is more politely humouring than anything else, as if he’s hoping Edward might be building up to something interesting.

“Do you want to know how I figured it out?”

“Not really.”

Edward isn’t sure whether Bruce genuinely doesn’t care or is just brushing him off. He is still getting to know this new Batman, Bruce, whoever.

“Does it bother you that people don’t know you’re Batman?” It would grate on him, for sure. He taps his fingers on the table, setting up a rhythm. “I suppose people will notice I’ve gone missing soon. Do you think they’ll think you’ve killed me? But you usually leave a body, don’t you?” His hat and mask were left at the construction site, among other things. A trail even the GCPD should be able to follow. “I wonder if I’ll make the lead on tonight’s news. I bet they report me as dead.” Gotham’s press can always be relied upon to be enthusiastically wrong.

“I’ll let you know if they do.”

But now he’s the one not listening. It’ll be Vicki Vale who notices first, in the next twenty-four hours. He’s had a few interviews with her since the Bat started killing – suddenly everyone was desperate to interview any surviving rogue – but even those dried up as the channel noted he was disappointingly not killed yet again, and therefore clearly had nothing new to offer. He can imagine the reports, and worst of all, what they’ll say he’s been doing the last few years – very little. Which is not true at all, he’s just been unlucky enough not to have hit on the right plan at the right time. As well as the Bat constantly focusing on foiling him. He bets they won’t even have anything positive to say about his Zero Year.

“People are going to notice.” In the coming days business interests will need him, a few computers will burst into flames, and if he doesn’t surface in the next twelve hours at least one public figure is going to have some uncomfortable details about his past come to light. But since he’s gone straight, he’s cut down on the people under his employment. There’s no one left who could find him here or would want to try. “I’d keep an eye out if I were you.”

“Are you finished?” Bruce is eyeing his almost empty tray.

“What is blue but-”

“Is that important? No?”

“So impatient.” Edward sighs, leans back, and gets comfortable with exaggerated slowness. “Shall we get to the point? Are my services required this morning?”

Bruce stands, looking as unimpressed as a secretly impressed person can. “Come on, we’re done.”

…

It’s back to the cage.

Bruce didn’t want to tell him about his plans for today, so Edward doesn’t know when to expect him back. He guesses he might as well sleep.

Some of the energy of last night has dissipated, but ideas still kindle in his mind and keep him awake. In the end he ends up thinking about Selina. Is she still in Paris? Not a good idea to ask the Bat. Whatever strange thing she and Batman had is over for good now – he knows her well enough to be certain of that. And Jon, he’ll still be in town, lying low, for now. He’ll see this as an opportunity too. Will Jon worry about him going missing? Probably not, but Edward doesn’t think he’ll be happy either, and considering everything that’s happened between them that’s likely the best he can hope for. It’s a good thing Nina and Dierdre left Gotham for greener pastures before all this began. They’d be the most likely to think hell, why not, and launch a rescue attempt.

He has been sleeping fine the past few weeks, so shouldn’t need much rest.

Once the lights go out, all he can hear is the distant buzz of generators, so faint he has to concentrate on the sound.

It’s so tempting to get on that computer. As much as he wants to know the Bat’s system, he also wants to know what’s going on in the outside world. Even in Arkham he knew more than this, even in solitary he could pay a guard to talk to him.

He keeps counting the hours, because he knows if you don’t keep a tight hold on the hours that’s when the days start to blur.

…

He does sleep, and wakes to a door opening.

He’s up right away, just before Batman steps into sight. If the Bat’s watching the cameras, he’ll have seen him sleeping anyway, but these little things are important, they add up.

It is Batman tonight, suit and all, and he comes complete with firearms.

A handgun at his hip, a new addition to his utility belt, and another in a holster above his boot. It’s jarring to see; Edward can’t help glancing at them as he follows Batman down through the cave. He doesn’t recognise the type – probably a Waynetech special. Who are the guns for? Unconfirmed reports have told of Batman using deadlier weapons recently, but he didn’t have one when they fought. So maybe he wasn’t in as much danger as he thought, or maybe Batman just underestimated him?

He might be doing it again. He leaves Edward to it in the bathroom, and when he emerges the Bat is already sitting at the table below. He seems more confident as Batman. Then again, he can shoot him from this distance if he tries anything funny.

Edward joins him at the table. Plates of food are piled high, steak and mashed potatoes and various vegetables and cake and cream and fruit and drinks. But then, he hasn’t eaten since the morning. Batman is silent while he does.

“What time is it?” he asks, despite the clock on the screen behind the Bat.

Batman tells him. “Do you want me to set up a clock where you can see it?”

“It would be better than nothing,” Edward says quickly.

“Okay.” Edward must look surprised, because Batman adds, “Anything you want, you’re free to ask.”

“Can I have my costume back?”

“No.” Is that a hint of a smile? That’s unusual…

Maybe because of the weapons he expected Batman to be tense, but if anything he’s more relaxed than earlier. Edward asks about the news and he is willing to tell him, not only that as of now there’s nothing about him, but about the other subjects Gotham considers newsworthy. Some B-list stars are breaking up, a new exhibit at the museum, a storm’s coming this weekend. Edward doubts he’ll notice it in here. He does notice Batman doesn’t mention anything about the ongoing debate about his new methods, whether having a vigilante who kills is a problem or just peachy, which Edward doubts has died down in the last twenty-four hours.

Still if the Bat wants to play nice than he will, for now. He compliments the cobbler.

“It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“You made this?”

Batman shrugs.

That’s interesting. He knows Bruce Wayne’s hobbies trend more towards adrenaline junkie, and Edward’s never heard anything about him enjoying cooking, so… “Hmm, well if you’re not too busy baking, there is one thing I’d appreciate…” He runs his fingers across his chin. His hair grows fast, and he’s always been proud of that, but right now this stubble is irritating him.

Batman reaches out across the table. His gloved fingers gently brush his chin, lifting it to see. Edward allows it. If it were anyone else touching him like this, or touching him at all in this scenario, he’d hate it. But having the Bat touch him, give him the attention he deserves – even if he’s looking at him like a prime piece of property – he doesn’t hate it. His dislike of it is… muted by other feelings.

Batman lets go. “I can give you a shave tomorrow.”

“Not my sideburns though. I want to grow them out.” He had only shaved them to create a distinction between him as a criminal and his new reformed persona. Now that’s over, he might as well do as he prefers. And there’s no way Batman will be able to shape them correctly, so he’ll have to give him the razor.

The meal is over, and Edward is listening to Batman drive out the cave before he realises he didn’t even ask him who he’s planning to shoot.


	5. Chapter 5

Edward explores the cage that night, and of course he was right. There is a way out. It’s not one he can access immediately, it’ll take a bit of work to set certain things in motion, but days of work, not even weeks. It’s a little disappointing how easy it’ll be. There are other ways out, of course, but that’s the one for him. The one he can hide.

And he doesn’t exploit it. Just sits and waits, for hours.

He can deal with being in a cage, he can deal with solitary, with restraints, with all the Bat has done to him so far. He might not like it, but he can handle it. He has survived the asylum, hasn’t he? Being temporarily trapped is nothing to someone like him.

He’s playing a long game here, but his mind buzzes with a million thoughts an hour, and urges his body to move with it. He only has to wait, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating, being so close to all this information he’s wondered about for so long and having to stop himself reaching out and grasping it.

By the time Batman comes back his good mood is long gone. And then the Bat exits the car and disappears into the manor, with barely a glance at him, and doesn’t return for over an hour.

It’s Bruce who walks back in, with a tray full of morning take-out. Edward goes through what is becoming a routine, uses the bathroom and sits down to eat, except this time Bruce is eating with him. He looks visibly exhausted, though Edward can’t see any bruises on him. Is the tiredness from a fight, or from not finding one? “Long day? Is it getting tiring murdering everyone?”

Bruce doesn’t reply. Edward’s getting an idea of why he brings such big meals now – Bruce eats a lot. Well, he must burn calories like a furnace. Edward scowls at his box of take-out, though really it tastes perfectly fine, not great, but fine. He considers complaining about the quality of food Bruce is bringing him, but he can do better than that. “Or maybe that’s not what’s making you tired. Maybe you’re ill. Any fever? A general malaise? Not feeling like yourself recently?”

Bruce takes a break from his eating to frown at him. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Edward smiles. “No need to be so sensitive. So, you just woke up one morning and decided to change your whole moral code?”

Bruce goes back to eating. “That’s right.”

“I remember when you refused to use firearms. A whole two weeks ago.”

“They’re a back-up, I still prefer getting up close and personal.”

Edward doesn’t buy his levity, even for this new Batman. “So, Bruce, want to tell me why you started killing?”

Apparently, Bruce finds the noodles too fascinating to even think up a reply.

Edward sighs and stretches; well it’s worked before. This time Bruce is pointedly not looking. “Well, I’m obviously not here for conversation – or anything else it seems. Wasn’t the idea to use me sexually? Right now, I feel like I’m a guest at an unusually nice Motel 6 which happens to be in a massive cave. I expected a lot of things from you, but not that you would be so dull.”

Bruce looks up at him with that Batman glare. “When I want you, I’ll have you. You’re here for my pleasure not yours.”

Edward’s a little embarrassed how relieved he is at the answer. As surprising as it is that Batman would bring him here for sex, it seems even more surprising he would bring him here for sex and then not have sex with him. It’s just good to have the situation clarified. But he does raise an eyebrow at the insinuation he might be coming on to Bruce, which is definitely not what’s happening here. All he wants is to chase the irritation in his voice. Push that exhaustion until it breaks like a wave. “Is that right? You’re not afraid to? Maybe you made a mistake bringing me here, it seemed like a good idea in the dark of the night but now you can’t perform? Or maybe that’s not why you brought me here at all?”

Bruce goes right back to ignoring him, but he’s not eating now.

“It’s not like you don’t have options. You could do anything – tie me down to this very sturdy table here,” He gives the table a slap for emphasis, “and have me whenever you want. No more trips back and forth. Piss on me, choke me, it’s up to you. Let your friends have a go if you want. Do what you want, I can’t stop you.”

Bruce doesn’t look embarrassed, but he’s not looking up.

“Or keep it PG. Punish me for my crimes like I’m sure you want to. Cut me, slice pieces off bit by bit until there’s nothing left. Bleed me out and leave my body for the bats. The ones outside, I guess. Or perhaps you’d rather have it yourself, a bit of exocannibalism, you could have my brain. Or just obliterate me with your fists – like old times.”

“You don’t need to be afraid, Edward. I’m not sadistic like you.”

“Then why am I here? Oh, Bruce, this is getting boring, and it’s so easy to get distracted around all your gadgets.”

“Drop it.” Bruce isn’t making an effort to hide the tiredness in his voice. He might even be encouraging it, in the hope that Edward might take pity on him. That’s really not how he works.

“I was worried you might be a bit dull in your demands, but I didn’t realise you brought me here just for the view.” Bruce’s weakness is red raw, sitting here eating with him. “Or is that not it at all? Are you lonely? The great Bruce Wayne, having to cook for himself. How many people have you pushed away with this new darker, dark knight act? Or is it not an act? Did they leave when they saw the real you?”

“Maybe I do need to teach you some obedience.” Bruce speaks slowly, and still manages to stand before Edward can properly register what he’s said. “Up.” He gestures at him.

Edward stands, he’s more than ready.

But Bruce doesn’t come to him, he goes to the computer instead, and starts it up. Leaving Edward standing there. “Do you know I have the capacity to livestream to the whole of Gotham from here? I haven’t had a reason to use it yet,” Bruce tells him.

“Fascinating.” Edward smiles. “You want to put on a show, parade me before the whole of Gotham, show your dominance. An interesting idea, but it doesn’t really strike me as your kind of thing. You’re more of a lurk in the shadows kind of guy.”

“A show? You’re right, that is an interesting idea. Wasn’t on your list, and yet before you were so worried about people knowing what happened to you.” Bruce’s head is blocking half the screen.

“So where are the cameras? I can see one above us, and in that corner.” He points even though Bruce isn’t looking. “But there must be others.”

But of course, Bruce can see him. He brings up several camera feeds – zooming in on Edward with one. Edward memorises the positions before Bruce minimises the streams.

“You wouldn’t mind – you like the attention, don’t you? Like you said, it’ll be like old times.” Bruce walks over to him, and for the first time that day Edward feels a little nervous. Bruce's gaze is intense, and this one isn’t the Batman glare, it’s all Bruce’s own.

Bruce stops right in front of him, and Edward is suddenly aware of how very naked he is. He tries not to think too hard about how Bruce looks right now. Even tired, he is exceptionally handsome, in an obvious kind of way, all cheekbones and strong jaw and striking blue eyes. The authority in the way he moves, even the way he stands, has never looked quite the same when Edward tries to mimic it. Right now, he looks like a king, and Edward, despite his best efforts to stand up straight and give no ground, probably doesn’t.

“Would I be allowed to wear clothes? Or do you want your adoring public to know what you’re doing to me? I’m sure they’d be impressed.”

Bruce shrugs. “I’m done lying about who I am.”

Edward’s not convinced. Batman might have changed his stance on killing, but not who he goes up against. He still sees himself as firmly on the side of good. “How are your friends at the GCPD going to react to you keeping me here as a prisoner, with no trial? How’s Commissioner Gordon going to feel about that? Even the few people that still see you as a hero are going to find it hard to explain why I’m here instead of in Arkham.”

Bruce doesn’t seem fazed, and now that he’s voiced them Edward doesn’t find his own arguments that convincing either. “You’re worried the people of Gotham will think less of me?” Bruce raises a hand to Edward’s head. Edward does his best not to flinch away and is rewarded with a stroke through his hair. Bruce’s fingers settle where the hair is a little longer at the nape of his neck to play with a few strands. Edward has no idea if Bruce has figured out how much he likes this or just gotten lucky. Either way he has to struggle to keep his eyes from sliding closed, to keep his breathing even. “I think you underestimate them. I wonder what the people of Gotham would like to see Batman do to the Riddler?” Bruce asks softly.

That brings him back to earth.

Bruce smiles as though he’s amused by his expression. “Did I find a way to shut you up? Might not have to gag you.”

“That’s what you want to stream? You… taking me?” He says it like it’s a crazy idea, which it is, but it’s really grabbed his cock’s attention.

“Why not? As you were saying, I can do anything I want.” From Bruce’s grin he’s noticed too.

Edward searches for a way to wipe that smile away. “People won’t accept that.”

“You’d be surprised what people will accept for safety. Like you did, for example.”

He’s about to say he doesn’t buy it, but realises he’s not sure. Would it be any more unbelievable than the rest? “So why aren’t you streaming?”

Bruce drops his hand from Edward's hair. “It’s too early, don’t want to scare the kids. I could record, but I think live would be better. Can answer questions, maybe take requests. Rawer too.” He walks over to the drawers next to the monitors as he speaks, and pulls out a length of rope from one drawer and a small bottle from another. “Consider this a rehearsal.”

“Do you keep restraints nearby at all times?” Edward watches Bruce approach, and Bruce watches him back, with just the tiniest hint of wariness. Edward’s glad he can still worry him.

“You’re more dangerous than you look. So how are we going to do this?” Bruce loops the rope over Edward’s neck when he reaches him, letting it brush over his chest.

“We? This is your idea. I had plenty, but this one is all yours.”

“That's a shame, you’re so good at putting on a show.” Bruce grabs the ends of the rope like a loose leash and leads him further down the table to a clear space at the end. Edward complies, he’ll fight, but not physically. “I think we’ll start with you bound.”

Edward glances at the empty monitors. “Okay. You show me what you _would_ do.”

Bruce ignores his smile and backs him onto the table with a heavy hand on his shoulder, until he is sitting, looking up at him. “Would you like to be gagged?”

Now that’s a stupid question. “What do you think?”

“Then I’m going to have to trust you to keep your mouth shut.” Bruce lifts his hand from Edward’s shoulder, other hand still holding the rope, and brushes Edward’s lip with his thumb.

This eye contact is very intimate for someone ostensibly threatening him with something he doesn’t want. Edward reaches up to bring him in to kiss - but Bruce grabs his hand and holds it still, pushing him back down. “No. Be good.”

Edward holds his gaze. The ‘Or what?’ is on his lips. He has a choice to make here – that look in Bruce’s eyes is the Bat’s and he does want to see what the Bat will do if he fights, but he also wants to see what Bruce has planned. He drops his gaze, but glances up at Bruce from under his eyelashes with a smirk.

Bruce releases his hand and pulls the rope from his shoulders fast enough to burn a little. “Lie down.”

He lies back, but that’s it. He’s not about to make this too easy. Bruce doesn’t seem to mind, efficiently lifting and tying each arm above his head and securing them to the other side of the table. Bruce steps back into view in front of him, nudging his legs apart none too gently with his own knees to move in closer. And that’s the point of no return. Edward’s skin is burning, blood rushing everywhere in his body like it’s gotten a bit confused, but especially to right between his legs, where Bruce is.

Bruce smiles down at him. “You like that? I think this is how we’ll open, with you tied down and exposed.”

Edward tugs on the ropes, trying not to make it obvious. They are tight enough it’s going to hurt if he pulls any more. Any other restraints he could be out of in seconds, but rope so rarely has a weakness or loophole to exploit.

“Who do you think would tune in to see you, Eddie? How many people? Half of Gotham? More, less?” The look on Bruce’s face is harder now. Edward isn’t sure what that means, if it’s an act or Bruce is actually annoyed at him for things that happened in the distant past.

Bruce’s hands flex at his sides. He can see more of the Bat in his gaze now, maybe it’s not so bad that they’re the same person if he gets to be fucked by both. Bruce’s eyes flicker over his body, taking in every inch of him. He has a gaze like a blade searching for a tumour to cut out, and for a moment Edward feels incredibly vulnerable. Bruce has hurt him before in more ways than physically, and he’s sure he’s more than capable of doing it again.

But along with the harshness in Bruce’s eyes is an honest appreciation he obviously doesn’t see the need to hide. It’s exciting to think Bruce is looking at him the same way he wants to look at Bruce. Edward can feel the blush rising in his cheeks. The outline of Bruce’s chest and biceps stands out under his long-sleeved shirt, but he wants more. He wants to see him; he wants his hands on him.

“Let’s say we get the people who were in Gotham for your zero year, at least. I wonder how many of them would want to help you? The cops? You think Commissioner Gordon would be tuning in? He might complain afterwards, but is he actually going to do anything about it?” Bruce runs a hand up his thigh, squeezing a little, pulling away long before he reaches his cock. The touch is nothing, but Edward still has to cut off a gasp. “You think there’s anyone who can stop me?”

If this were actually being broadcast and Bruce were suited up, Batman leaving him ungagged would be the equivalent of giving him a loaded gun, there would be no way he could cut the stream before Edward could reveal his identity, turning this into a more equal game between the two of them. But it isn’t, so there’s no real reason for him to obey and keep silent. But it’s still a game, broadcast or not, so he can play along.

“What about the relatives of the people you killed in your failed takeover? The ones who spoke at your trial. Would they watch? What would they want me to do to you? Half the things you listed, probably.”

It’s difficult not to speak up and disagree with that ‘failed’. But the anger in Bruce’s voice now is real and interesting, and Edward wants to see what he does with it.

“Remember those people brave enough to stand up to you? The ones who accepted your challenge. Do you remember their names now?”

He has to bite his lip because he remembers everything. He meets Bruce’s eyes. When he remembers his Zero Year it still takes his breath away. If Bruce is looking for guilt, he’ll be disappointed. But Bruce doesn’t look as angry as he sounds, or as Edward might have expected. “You’re a monster,” Bruce says, and he sounds almost impressed, “and you’re mine.” Edward realises it’s at himself for capturing him. Which is after all, the Bat’s whole thing – the only way he can make himself feel good is by controlling and hurting those he deems even worse than himself.

“They’ll see what I get to do to you – whatever I want.” Bruce forces his thighs further apart, the pressure in his fingers enough to bruise, before grabbing his hips, pulling him down in one go so his ass is hanging over the edge of the table, stretching his shoulders. Bruce’s body is against his crotch, his hands exploring his skin like he wants to map every inch, fingers brushing gently over his stomach and ribs, then gripping hard to hold him in place when he moves, either from impatience or the stimulation. Those big hands trace over old scars and new. Edward is glad the oldest are hidden on his back. Bruce stops to play with a nipple and Edward jerks his head back at the charge that runs through him. He gives up biting his lip and lets out a short whimper as Bruce pinches the other one.

One hand lingers on his throat for a second, before moving higher to brush his thumb against his lips, and then rest and press on the thin scar above.

The twist of tissue is pressed against his teeth and he remembers its cause. It’s a memory to dissipate any softer feelings a lust-fuelled mind might conjure up. Bruce, Batman, both, are after all, just a brute. Then Bruce tells him, “They’ll see you being so good for me,” and his other hand lightly grips his cock, and Edward has mixed feelings.

Bruce cups his jaw. His face is still close, eyes locked on his. Edward wonders if he’s going to kiss him, and if he’s going to respond. Bruce’s hand is firm and cool against his cheek while the rest of his body feels like it’s on fire. Even the brush of Bruce’s sleeve against his jaw registers as pleasant, as much as Edward wishes he would get rid of the shirt.

Bruce’s hand hasn’t moved on his cock, and as much as Edward wants to wait to find out what Bruce will do, the opportunity to make his wants known wins out, and he lifts his hips, driving into his grasp.

Bruce immediately lets go, grabbing his hip and forcing it down. Edward can’t help a small sigh of disappointment, while Bruce smiles again. “You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you? You always wanted this, always liked getting caught a little too much.”

Edward scowls. He wants to say it’s not true. Thinking about it and wanting it are different things.

“This is what all your riddles have been for, just to encourage me to catch you, and take what I want.” Bruce traces a line down and across his stomach, just brushing the patch of hair lower.

Edward opens his mouth to disagree. The point of his riddles is to challenge and improve. Of course, a cheat wouldn’t understand that.

But before he says anything Bruce’s hand is on his cock again, stroking it once, so casually, eyes never leaving his, and he clamps his mouth shut.

“What am I going to do with this?” Bruce asks. He strokes him slowly, loosely, just enough pressure to feel. “Do you deserve this?” His other hand is still on his hip, like a vice holding him still, Edward finds out when he realises the friction isn’t enough and attempts to thrust up. He whimpers and turns his head to the side, unable to move to increase the pressure, unable to do anything but lay there and take it as Bruce strokes him.

“All of Gotham watching you come apart in my hands. Such a clever boy, but just a desperate mess for me.”

From here Edward can see the screen is off, but he lingers on the picture Bruce paints. Bruce, and Batman, and the whole of Gotham watching, seeing how clearly he belongs to both of them.

When Bruce lets go and moves away Edward is close enough to full on whine. He looks up at Bruce, who is standing back to undo his jeans. “I’m going to fuck you now. Of course, I don’t need to let you come to do that. Would that be a fitting punishment?”

Bruce leans over him and his hard cock brushes against Edward’s balls. Edward looks at him with wide eyes. “Maybe I’m being too harsh - you’ve only been a mouthy little brat so far. And you’re being good for me now aren’t you? Maybe I should give you a chance to apologise.”

Bruce moves closer, almost close enough to kiss. Edward closes his eyes and leans up, and finds nothing, head falling back again and hitting the table with a bump.

He lifts his head again and opens his mouth, genuinely not sure what Bruce wants from him, if he wants a verbal apology, but Bruce’s fingers are at his lips, pressing them closed, and him down. “No, or I will gag you. I know you can do it.” He keeps his fingers there as Edward stills under them. “Get them wet.”

Edward licks at Bruce’s fingertips. When Bruce slips them inside he sucks the digits back eagerly until the tips hit his throat. This is the only choice he’s been able to make this session and he’s not sure what it says that he makes it so readily. Bruce lets him take the lead on this and he’s almost grateful, but he pushes away such sentimental feelings. It would be better to be thinking with his dick right now, as Bruce surely is while watching him. He uses his tongue; he is good with his mouth in many ways and he wants Bruce to know and appreciate that.

Bruce keeps up the eye contact until his fingers are wet and sloppy. Edward couldn’t take his eyes off him if he wanted to. When the first finger pushes into his hole, he closes his eyes at the burn. “Okay?” Bruce asks him. He nods vigorously. The last thing he wants is for Bruce to get some stupid idea that he should stop.

Bruce works his fingers in with quick shallow strokes which grow deeper, until he is three fingers deep in him and Edward is pushing back to take more. The grip on his cock is tight, Bruce giving him occasional slow strokes as he opens him up. The stimulation is exactly what he needs, and it’s hard not to say it out loud. He wants Bruce's cock in him too, but Bruce’s fingers are big enough, bigger than his, which flex and hold the rope binding his hands for something to grab onto. “Enjoying yourself?” Bruce smiles down at him, “That’s it, fuck yourself, show everyone what you’re good for. Some king of Gotham.” The words might give him pause if Bruce wasn’t speeding up his thrusts to meet him and pumping his cock faster as he speaks. As it is, Edward can’t help letting out small pants and whimpers. He is already close, and he works to push himself over the edge, lifting his head to see Bruce’s hand on his cock. There’ll be some strange satisfaction in coming before Bruce can fuck him, leaving his mind a little more intact and his body a little more controlled as Bruce takes his pleasure from him.

He only gets to see Bruce take one, two more long strokes of his cock and it’s so close to all he needs, and then Bruce pulls both hands away. He whines at the lack of stimulation just at the wrong time and cranes his neck up to see better. At least Bruce is readying himself with gratifying urgency. A squirt of lube and seconds later his length is pressing at his wet entrance.

“Stay still,” Bruce orders, pressing down on his hip. The push inside still burns, he’s forgotten how big Bruce is. “That’s it. That’s good.” Bruce’s breathing is definitely heavier. One of Bruce’s hands is on his cock and the other reaches up to cup his cheek. Edward leans into the touch, he likes the feel of Bruce’s hands, the smooth skin of his palms, the rough callouses, gentle now where they had hurt. He closes his eyes as Bruce bottoms out in him. “Everyone’s going to see how beautiful you are,” Bruce’s voice is sweeter than he’s heard it before, “Open those pretty eyes.”

He does and Bruce moves in him, giving long slow strokes to his cock once again. “What would they think of me, seeing how much I want you?”

Now that does get him thinking about Gotham’s citizens. Would they be angry at Bruce’s gentleness, jealous of what he has? Edward leans his head back. Would they enjoy seeing him dominated by the only man in the world who can? Bruce’s thrusts are gaining pace. His hand is tight enough to make him constantly want more. He can’t stop himself making small noises as Bruce starts fucking him in earnest, pushing him back against the table.

Bruce’s cheeks are blushed, hips pistoning. “How does that feel? It’s okay, you’ve been good. Tell everyone what you need. Tell me.”

Bruce’s tone is demanding, and close enough to pleading for Edward to stay quiet. It’s tempting, but he can tell Bruce is just that little bit closer, just that little bit more desperate. That’s the great thing about games, there’s always a way to win, no matter how high the odds are stacked against you. Or at least a way to make your opponent lose.

Bruce pulls out with a shudder, grips Edward’s thigh hard and takes a breath. “You want to come, you’re going to have to ask for it.”

Edward has plenty to say, but he’s not about to ask Bruce to fuck him. Not in front of half of imaginary Gotham. This is Bruce’s game, and he can do what he wants, but he has to take responsibility for it. He can’t change the rules halfway through.

“Or I can leave you here all day.” Bruce tucks his still hard cock into his jeans and waits for his answer, looking almost composed now. Too bad for him Edward knows the truth.

Edward glances up at his wrists. His hands are turning red with the amount of straining against the ropes he’s been doing. Of course, once he can get himself into a better position, he can untie himself easily.

While he looks away, Bruce walks away. Over to the storage cabinets by the computers again. Edward watches him go. The back of his neck is red. Amazing that he hadn’t picked up before exactly how well those jeans hug his ass. His own cock pulses, heavy against his pelvis. What is he going to do if he denies Bruce, go jack off in his cage?

Bruce is pulling restraints from the drawers. Leather cuffs, safe to stay on longer without cutting off the circulation, and institutional style. Screw this. He whines just loud enough for Bruce to hear, and tries to wriggle into an even more alluring pose. Bruce glances over at him, and Edward sees him hesitate, and sees, not for the first time today, the desire in his eyes, before he looks away again.

It’s that look in Bruce's eyes that breaks the dam. What’s the point in both of them denying their urges? Someone has to break this stalemate. It should be Bruce but obviously he’s too stubborn. It doesn’t matter. He can afford to lose a thousand battles before he wins this war.

“Bruce, stop being so ridiculous. Do you want an invitation? Fine. Fuck me, please. Is that what you want? Please will you get back over here and fuck me already.”

It’s to Bruce’s credit that he slides the drawer shut and strides over immediately, pulling his dick out of his jeans as he does.

For all Bruce’s talking before their roles are reversed now, and it’s Edward that calls Bruce’s name as he slides into him. The pace is quick, both of them racing to the end. Hard, deep thrusts that’ll have him aching after, and Bruce’s tight grip on his cock push him over the edge with Bruce, and he comes with another cry of his name. Even Bruce calls something as his cock twitches and spills inside of him, though afterwards Edward has no idea what, too busy riding the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Bruce almost falls onto him after coming, but just manages to catch himself, elbows either side of Edward’s chest. Edward watches Bruce’s chest rise and fall as he gets his breathing under control. He forces himself to look Bruce in the eyes, pushing through that post-orgasm awkwardness, but Bruce isn’t meeting his, and gets up a second later. He lies still as Bruce unties him, quick and efficient.

Edward’s wondering what he’s going to do about the cum, both on his stomach and leaking out of him, when a wad of tissues hits the table next to him.

By the time he’s ready to stand, Bruce is across the table, taking a long drink of soda. He looks like he’s run a marathon.

It’s not that he expected hugs and kisses, but it would be nice to have… something, he doesn’t know what.

But Bruce has managed to surprise him, and he can take satisfaction in that. He’s a match for him. A worthy opponent in bed as well as out of it.

“Well, Bruce, who’d have thought you had it in you.” It’s a weak retort to nothing, but he has to say something. He copies Bruce’s lead and takes his own soda. He takes a long drink, needing it.

Bruce is already walking towards the stairs. “Come on.”

It is only once he is in the cage and Bruce is walking away that Edward realises this might not just be a temporary place to put him while Bruce cleans himself up. He might be being left here for the day – dirty. By the time his sex-numbed brain has weighed up whether that’s worth getting clarification on, Bruce is halfway across the cave. And by the time he decides it definitely is worth arguing about, the heavy door leading out of the cave is already closing.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s not particularly hard to hold onto his anger for twelve hours. He ends up dozing in a light simmering rage, and when he wakes he estimates it must be dark outside by now. It’s lucky he took the soda with him, his water bottle never got refilled. He’s going to have to have words with Batman about the way he treats his pets. He chucks the bottle at cage wall, then chides himself for that loss of control.

He has been meditating regularly, but more than ever he needs it today. But it’s hard to focus, or well, lose focus, when he’s sticky and gross. And he had to use the bucket. At least Bruce will have to clean it, it’s not like he has any staff left, not that come down here anyway, not even his butler left.

When Bruce arrives, he’s half dressed, a Batman without cowl or gloves. He’s slipping, Edward thinks, not for the first time that day, but the thought doesn’t bring enough comfort.

The long shower he has after Bruce finally lets him out helps. He’s carried his blanket with him into the bathroom. No words to Bruce, who doesn’t stop him. Afterwards he wraps it around him and steps out into the cave.

Bruce is waiting for him at the base of the cave. He’s eating with him again, further evidence he’s losing touch, a huge cooked evening breakfast of eggs and bacon, and sausages and rolls. Edward sits down, brushing his still damp hair out of his face, and takes a long drink of the water supplied. He finishes the bottle, making pointed eye contact with a chewing Bruce.

He figures he shouldn’t worry too much about his dignity, it’s not like Bruce does. “My bedding will need to be changed today. And the bucket you’ve so kindly supplied me with needs to be washed out.”

Bruce gives a small nod, still shovelling food in his face, like he accepts that. Edward watches him.

“This blanket needs to be washed too, but since I’ve no other way to preserve my dignity I think I’ll keep it for now. I presume I will be given new bedding and not expected to sleep in my, and your, filth again.”

Bruce looks surprised. “Of course.” He does at least set down his fork for a moment. “I apologise for leaving you in that, uh, way, last night. I was tired.”

“I hope you had a pleasant rest.”

“Come on, I know how dangerous you are. I can’t always risk dealing with you when I’m not at my best.”

It’s not exactly what Edward expected. He lets out an annoyed noise. “That’s not my problem.”

“You want me to take risks with you? Then you need to prove you can be trusted. I know you Edward, bringing you here is like bringing a bomb into my cave. I know better than to let my guard down with you for a second.”

He ignores the first part of Bruce’s speech. “It wasn’t the best idea to bring me here; I never would have expected you to be so trusting.” He takes a bite of his breakfast, it’s not so bad. He has to admit he expected worse from the Bat – maybe an Arkham-like cell, being taken out, hosed down and used occasionally – compared to that this is fairly reasonable.

Of course, it’s a power thing for Bruce, it always is. Having his greatest enemy under his control, reduced to begging for his cock – okay, it does sound pretty good. He would enjoy it if the roles were reversed.

“You made the news this morning,” Bruce tells him.

“Really?” Finally. He tries not to sound too interested.

“Someone’s noticed you’ve gone missing. Every channel and paper in the city’s speculating on where you are.”

“What have the GCPD got to say about it?”

“The GCPD haven’t issued a statement. When they do, I doubt they’ll have anything to add.”

Edward looks at Bruce sharply. “They haven’t discovered the building?” He can buy Gotham’s finest missing a trail, but there should have been construction workers at the site this morning to raise the alarm when they found his things. Bruce returns his gaze with mild interest. “Did you clean it up?” he asks Bruce.

“No. Monro did. He was trying to cover his tracks. And to keep his job.”

“You’ve spoken to him?”

“I took him to Blackgate. He’s a criminal.”

“Cold. I suppose he should count himself lucky that’s all you did. And he hasn’t told anyone? Snitches get stitches, eh? Any other criminal I’d expect the story to start circulating around Blackgate soon, but Claude has good form for keeping schtum, for just about everyone. I suppose I’m not going to get my cane back?”

“He threw everything left at the construction site into the bay.”

Edward sighs. And when he doesn’t turn up no doubt the GCPD will be heading to his legitimate address to mess with his stuff there. At least everything important is hidden elsewhere. “So, if not the police…”

“Who alerted the press to you going missing? I assume you have an idea?”

Edward shrugs, and smiles. He has put enough distance between him and his past associates that few would notice him missing this soon, and those that might know him well enough to leave it alone when he drops out of sight. Plus, they’re hardly the type to go running to the press. So, possibly a misguided business associate? Most likely some reporter had failed to get in contact with him for a quote, written a speculative story and now every news outlet in Gotham has leapt aboard the good ship overreaction. These stories had been shoved out before during the Bat’s killing spree, with other Rogues who turned out to be, unsurprisingly, lying low. It would be a huge pain to refute if it weren’t true. But it’s not a bad idea to let Bruce think people are looking for him. “Do the press have any interesting theories? Abducted by aliens, washed away in the storm, kidnapped by a horny flying mammal?”

“They’re just filling air. You’re dead or you’ve disappeared to hatch some scheme. They have no idea, but so long as they can get talking heads on seats to argue about it, it doesn’t matter to them. Would it matter to you if they knew?”

It makes sense Bruce would be bitter towards the press. Their reporting of him as a child had always been thorough and imprecise. “I’d think it would matter to you. Isn’t your reputation important to you?”

“No, not really.” Bruce’s indifference sounds awfully genuine.

“You don’t care about Gotham’s opinion of you? Not worried about being the hero anymore? Because keeping me here for your use, it’s just not very heroic.”

“I know what I’m doing is best for Gotham. And keeping you here is a part of it.”

He wants to ask how sex with him could possibly have anything to do with what’s best for Gotham, but he bites the words back. He has already asked too much, and he isn’t about to give Bruce the satisfaction of manipulating his need for the truth. He’ll find out himself, in time. “So, what else is going on today? Any chance of reconciliation for Delilah and Cole?”

“Your disappearance pushed them off the front page.”

“I’m proud. I suppose you don’t get time to read the whole paper.” For all Bruce has told him, he hasn’t offered to bring him the newspapers, or access to any information at all.

“I don’t.” Bruce eats quickly as well as fast. “When you’re finished you can help me change the bedding and I’ll help you shave.”

…

Bruce takes the mass of fleeces which Edward has been using as a mattress, hefting them up on his shoulder like they’re nothing, while Edward more carefully folds the blankets. It’s too difficult to keep one around him while he carries the others, and the air is cold against his skin as he follows Bruce across the walkways. His exposure ignites the anger simmering within him. They are high here, Bruce’s back is right in front of him, broad, but off balance from the rolled fabric over one shoulder, and the railings are low. Of course, he does nothing, even the risk of it is below him. When he executes his plan, whatever it is to be, it’ll be perfect.

Edward finds his gaze drifting to the wide muscle of Bruce’s shoulder, watching it shift as Bruce adjusts his load. He shouldn’t be thinking about these things now. But then again, he has every right to think about these things if they’re having sex. In fact, these thoughts will help him in his plans, as long as he doesn’t let himself get distracted from his end goal.

Set into the column of rock the cars are parked upon is a storage room. The entrance is through an open hole in the wall, high enough Edward has to step over the stone lip. Inside it’s darker, colder, and even more cavelike than the rest of the cave. The room’s filled with supplies: toiletries, canned food, bottled water, and other more interesting stuff, weapons, electronics, spare parts. Edward traces a finger over half a Batarang, if Bruce didn’t want him to look then he wouldn’t have brought him here. He examines all he can, trying to figure out where object each is sourced from, and watches out of the corner of his eye as Bruce selects fresh bedding and puts together a small shaving kit. He hands Edward a new blanket, takes the remaining blankets and sheepskins, and gestures to the shaving kit. “Take that to the table, I’ll join you in a minute.”

At the table, Edward sits and opens the small washbag. He can just hear Bruce on the walkway above, but he doesn’t look up. He takes a look at the razor, tests it with his thumb. In case Bruce is watching, it would be a shame not to. He could break off a sharp edge, the plastic even more easily than the metal, and hide it in this blanket. He constantly has to fight this primal part of his brain that says ‘fight’. But the bit that worries him more is the equally primal part that doesn’t want to.

When Bruce arrives, Edward’s sitting nicely, everything laid out and waiting, little cup of water and all. Bruce sits next to him on the bench and turns him to face him, tilting his chin for a better angle. Edward lets him, watching Bruce’s eyes on him. He watches Bruce lather up the shaving cream, and closes his eyes as Bruce spreads it over his chin, jaw, and upper lip, avoiding the sides of his face as requested. Bruce’s hands are gentle, and he’s very close, and he smells good. Edward can feel his higher mental functions slipping away a little.

Then Bruce’s hands are gone, and Edward opens his eyes to see him wiping them off, and even his hands on a towel are hard not to watch. He has to think of something else. Capital cities? Too easy. He hasn’t decided before Bruce is shifting even closer on the bench and raising the razor to his face. And that does change his focus, he flinches away.

“Okay?” Bruce almost whispers, hand hovering in the air.

“Of course.” He knows Bruce isn’t going to cut him with a safety razor, but they’ve been enemies for too long for him to not be instinctively wary of him with any kind of blade in his hands. That’s a good thing to be thinking of right now, as Bruce razes the first path across his jaw – Batman walking towards him, his fists, Bruce’s hands on him earlier. “Is that what you tell yourself, that I want you to catch me?”

Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. “Isn’t it true?”

Of course it's not. He's never been happy when Batman's foiled his plans. Possibly slightly less unhappy than if it were anyone else. But then, the idea of anyone else beating him is unimaginable. “My puzzles are an intellectual exercise. It’s your disturbed mind that reads more into them.”

“So you don’t want me to fuck you tonight?” Bruce places two fingers on his chin, angling his head towards him, and that has to be a calculated, and unfair, move. His eyes are hypnotic blue, Edward half wants to look at them, half wants to look away, and that conflict is strong enough to chase all other thoughts out of his head.

Still, he answers levelly. “It’ll break up the tedium. Are you planning on killing someone tonight?”

“We’ll see.” Bruce’s eyes are on his jaw, managing to look like he’s examining him and thoughtfully far away at the same time. “Not all criminals leave me clues. Some prefer to stay hidden. Jervis Tetch, for example. He might have left Gotham, but it’s best to be sure. Any idea where he might be?”

“I’m sure I could make an educated guess, as could you.” He could name a few places right now, and he’s already figuring it out as he speaks. He knows where Tetch was before he arrived at the cave, he knows who he works with, he knows, as much as anyone can, how his mind works. Maybe if he can figure it out, Batman can too. He’ll have to.

Bruce appears to accept his words. “There are a few left, but I’ll find them in time. They’re the kind who can’t stop, like you.” Bruce doesn’t meet his eyes. Maybe he thinks it’s too cheap a shot, maybe he’s too focused on shaving his jawline. He’s still talking though. “Crane – Scarecrow. You know him?”

Edward doesn’t bother answering. Bruce’s razor swiping wet across his cheek suggests he doesn’t expect an answer anyway. He doesn’t know if Bruce knows the full extent of he and Jonathan’s relationship, it’s not as though either of them ever talk about it, even to each other, but considering how many Rogues have figured it out it’s quite likely the world’s greatest detective has. At the very least, he knows they have worked together.

“Maybe you know where he would lay low?”

“Now why would I tell you that?” He could give Bruce the location of a dozen of Jonathan’s safehouses and potential safehouses and it wouldn’t matter at all, Jonathan won’t be in any of them. That’s one reason Jon is so interesting to him, he can’t always predict him, because Jon does things people shouldn’t be able to do. He’s probably hiding out in a literal hole in the ground. But he will be in Gotham, he won’t run, the Bat’s right about that.

“You could give me a riddle.” Bruce meets his eyes at that, as he cleans off the razor, like he thinks he’s revealed a winning hand.

“What separates countries? Grows thinner and thinner? Has a mouth but no tongue? Flowers in a serious garden? And ghosts avoid it? Can you guess the riddle?”

Is that a smile? “It’s okay. I won’t make you. Not in your job description.”

Of course, Bruce doesn’t expect him to tell. Now that he thinks he’s in control, he finally wants to play games. But power can make people sloppy. “How do you know I haven’t told you?”

How he loves to see that look on Bruce’s face. And it’s gone in a second. Apparently, Bruce thinks he’s bluffing. “You think you’re smarter than me, Eddie.”

“Of course.”

“Then why have I always beaten you?”

“You have other advantages. And you’ve been lucky.” That’s the nicest way of saying cheated he ever has. “It’s not fair, you had a head start.”

Bruce keeps shaving, takes his time. “And you weren’t smart enough to catch up?”

“Look what you have. You didn’t have to take this; you were handed it. Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham. No, that’s not a head start, you won the race before you took your first steps.”

“So, if I didn’t have money, you think you would have won?”

He hesitates. Probably, but then Bruce would be a whole different person, and without Bruce, so would he. “I think you have no idea how lucky you are. You tell yourself that you’ve rejected what you’ve been given, and built something for yourself, but you’ve had control of your life since you were ten. How many people can afford the best education, to take seven years out to travel all over the world, to hide away and let their business run itself? What do you think happens to any other child without parents? They don’t grow up to do this. They can’t.” Bruce stops shaving while he speaks, and waits for him to finish. Patiently, indulgently. “I grew up watching you, and from my perspective you had a perfect life, and that includes losing your parents.”

Edward expects some kick-back over the parents line, but Bruce seems remarkably unaffected. “So, it’s important to do something with that privilege.” He starts shaving again.

“And this is the best you could think of? Playing dress up, running around punching people in the dark? It’s hardly changing the world.”

“What is it that’s important about what you do?”

Edward hesitates. “I tell the truth.” Which is a little too honest.

Not surprisingly, Bruce makes him regret it. “The truth? You like misleading people; it makes you feel superior.”

“Superior. You’d know.” It’s foolish, but it stings that maybe the one person who could understand doesn’t at all.

For the first time in the conversation Bruce frowns. “I do appreciate your intelligence Edward. You’re brilliant, anyone can see that. I just don’t understand–”

“No, I know you don’t.” The silence is broken only by Bruce tapping the razor clean on the glass. “So…” Edward starts as Bruce resumes shaving. He pauses, he has to be careful here. This is a sensitive subject for Bruce, and with their history this question could so easily lead them into some petty argument where nothing of worth gets said. And he really does want to know the answer. “When did you decide to do”–he sweeps the cave with his eyes, as much as he can without moving his head at all–“all this?” Of course, he knows why a damaged billionaire roams the streets as a costumed vigilante. For the contradiction that is Bruce Wayne it’s a way to hurt some people while helping others, to mould the world while staying invisible, and to play at justice without ever having to follow anyone else’s rules. And now he’s seen the cave, he gets the bat thing too. But he still doesn’t understand how Bruce justifies it. He’s given up half of his life, full of every opportunity possible, for Batman.

“When I left Gotham, I had no idea what I was going to do. I knew I’d come back someday, and I knew I wanted to help people; it was why I spent all those years abroad training. I just didn’t know how.”

“But then what? You saw a bat and inspiration hit?”

“I couldn’t do it as Bruce Wayne. Throwing money at the problem wasn’t enough. I needed to be someone who could do more than I could, more than any person could. Well, that was the idea. I just wanted to stop another kid from losing his parents like I did, I suppose.”

“So, if all this is because of your parents…” He hesitates to ask what they would think, and set Bruce to defensive mode, but he’s sure Bruce will pick up on it.

“I’ve wasted far too much time angsting over my parents’ deaths. They’re gone, it’s that simple.”

“I quite agree.” Edward is almost surprised at himself. It’s not that he doesn’t agree, he’s thought it enough, reading about yet another scholarship or charitable fund dedicated to the memory of the Waynes. But the way Bruce says it feels wrong.

“But that doesn’t mean everything that time created isn’t worthwhile. Batman means something, more than Bruce Wayne ever could. A hope for a better future for Gotham. And now, I’m going to do it right. I’ll do what needs to be done.” Bruce’s words aren’t helping with that discomfort.

“What if you could–”

“We’re done.” Bruce removes the razor and drops it into the glass of water.

Edward is surprised into silence by the finality in Bruce’s words. He has the strangest feeling, like he’s grabbing onto something that already slipped past him the moment he noticed it. It sends a shiver through him.

He’s not sure if Bruce notices it, but the other man raises a hand to cup the side of his jaw, observing him closely, and runs a thumb along his cheek. He can feel how smooth his own skin is under the pad of his thumb. The sensation is far better than what he just felt, so he leans into the touch, for a second, before it is taken away.

Bruce holds the mirror up to him. “How’s that?”

It’s an extremely thorough shave. Edward examines himself carefully. “You missed a spot.” He points to the corner of his upper lip, where a hint of stubble still remains. Bruce squints at it. Okay, so there’s not much. “I thought you were a perfectionist, Bruce.”

Bruce sighs, puts down the mirror and picks up the razor again. When Bruce brings it close, Edward grabs his hand, feels the tension in the arm as it stills, and leans in to kiss him quick. As soon as Bruce’s lips relax against his he pulls back and smiles close to his face.

Bruce places the razor on the table, maintaining eye contact and a neutral expression. “Cute.” When the thin line of Bruce’s lips break into a smile it’s so easy and natural it has Edward smiling too.

“Thank you.”

Bruce leans in, hands gripping his shoulders in an instant. Edward sees this coming though, and his arms curl around Bruce’s back as he moves to meet him. Bruce's lips are so warm. Bruce pushes him back, to lean at a slightly awkward side angle against the table. Discomfort from the table edge digging in is pushed back by Bruce’s mouth on his, hungry and promising.

Bruce’s hands trail down his sides, pushing his half-forgotten blanket down to spill over the bench around him. They’re still damp from the shave, rough skin brushing along the smooth skin of his sides, leaving a cooler trail that makes him shiver as they come to rest on his hips. Edward leans into the kiss as much as possible despite Bruce already being almost flush against him, edges his hips around to face him more and opens his legs to slide either side of his thighs.

Bruce pulls back a little, placing a hand on either side of his face to hold him still. Edward looks into those eyes. They look both determined and unsure and he wants to feed on that look. “Later. I have to go out.”

He’s caught between arguing and agreeing, after all he shouldn’t want this, but then, why shouldn’t he? He’s struck by the thought that his expression probably looks a little like Bruce’s. He’s about to just go for it, take his arms from around Bruce and place his hands in position to drive this train forward into the waiting boulders when Bruce pulls away, almost jumping up from the table, and Edward’s hands drop to the sides of the bench instead. “Come on.” Bruce clears his throat, and picks up the razor. He waits, already half turned towards the stairs.

Edward stands slowly, half hard, but it’s disappearing quickly into a dark pit of disappointment. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get physical pleasure where he can. It’s the hint of rejection curling in his stomach and threatening to grow if he ever looks at it that doesn’t make sense.

For all his smarts, he’s never been that good at figuring himself out. Sometimes it’s a bad idea to even try. He pushes away all doubt as he follows Bruce up through the cave.


	7. Chapter 7

He sits on one blanket on the stone floor, feels the cold travel through him, and tries to find a place in the universe. He has to be careful with Bruce. Even simply enjoying spending time with him must be tempered with the knowledge that Bruce, Batman, is his enemy, that he’ll never be able to reach his potential, never fully self-actualise with him around. But he’s smart enough to know that he can’t completely control his feelings, and of course he wants Batman’s attention, who wouldn’t? Seeking his approval is… more of a flaw, but he’s not going to beat himself up about it right now.

It’s a thin line he has to walk, he’s no actor and these genuine emotions are likely helping to lower Bruce’s defences, but they run the risk of lowering his own too. He can’t let himself get distracted from his end goals, but at the same time, he has to encourage Bruce’s attention on him. From here it’s hard to see which side of the line he’s standing on, but he’s quite sure he could be doing better.

Maybe his focus has been too tight on Bruce. But right now, it’s difficult to think of anything else. And as much as that makes him uncomfortable, it’s as it should be. Afterwards, after he’s uncovered all of Bruce and Batman’s secrets, when he knows, when he’s won, he’ll be free, and can focus on other things. But right now, nothing else matters. He puts his hand out, fingers pressing onto the stone. It’s just difficult sometimes, when he finds it a little too easy to get lost in the other man, when the only thing worse than thinking about him is not.

Someone out there knows what happened with Bruce, or at least parts of it. People who have most likely run as far away as possible, and others he can’t see yet. It’s a puzzle, and he has to connect whatever small shreds of information each individual might have to view the big picture. Getting in touch with them from here will be hard, but not impossible. Bruce still has some staff upstairs, even his casual clothes are ironed and freshly laundered, and Edward can’t see him doing that himself. People close to him like the butler and Selina may have left, but where better to track them from? And if anyone else is keeping an eye on Batman, here is where he’s most likely to find out.

It’s not time to make contact yet, but it’s never too early to plan.

There are only so many branches even this huge unknown can take, and at some point, Edward starts thinking about who reported him missing. It bothers him that he doesn’t know. He turns it over in his mind, and comes up with plenty of ideas, none of them particularly interesting or significant. But he can’t know for sure. Such a small unimportant thing to fixate on, he can find out later easily – but he is still thinking about it when the Batmobile roars into the cave. Perhaps better than the other options, but he is still disappointed in himself.

This time Batman doesn’t get changed before he comes to him. The car door slams, and Edward hears heavy footsteps on the stairs. He stands up, ready.

He has to plant his feet hard on the cold stone to stop a shudder running through him as Batman approaches. The expression on the Bat’s face is grim, his movements carefully measured and controlled. He looks as tense as Edward feels, and hopefully it’s for the same reason.

Batman raises the cage without a greeting. Edward bites his lip to stay silent. He’s felt close to spinning out of control tonight, unwilling to reach out and grasp the power he could. He’s caught between wanting to take control and for once not wanting the Bat to lose control, but to take his from him. Take him and direct him and keep him grounded.

When there’s no barrier between them Edward hesitates. Batman beckons him with a nod to his side. Not an impressive level of communication, but not unusual for the Bat. “You want me, Batman?” he asks, sweetly. His words cut through the thick silence. The Bat’s stoic expression doesn’t falter, so Edward closes the gap between him and the unmoving man and leans up to kiss. Their lips have barely brushed when he’s pushed away with a strong hand on his chest.

“Not here.”

Batman’s hand grasps his upper arm, guiding him next to him to the stairs. The part of him that wanted Batman’s control now finds itself resenting it. It’s his silence, it speaks to a lack of effort, a lack of caution, as though he might be just anyone.

The Bat’s gait changes slightly on the steps, he’s favouring the leg furthest away, almost enough to lean on him. It returns to normal on the solid stone of the cave floor, but it’s enough for Edward to smell weakness. As they pass the table, heading past the computers, he decides it’s time for an experiment.

He gives Batman a sharp push towards a nearby chair. The Bat obviously isn’t expecting it, and with the injury it’s enough to send him off balance, sliding against the chair, one hand on the armrest to steady himself. Edward is on him immediately, kissing him, he doesn’t want Batman to think this is an actual attack, that wouldn’t bode well for his facial structure. The Bat’s grip on his arm has tightened, but it relaxes after a second, and Batman sits down in the chair, pulling him in with him, onto his lap. Edward is filled with a rush of victory as he slides his arms around Batman’s shoulders, bringing their chests close, Kevlar hard and cold against his bare skin. Batman bites lightly against his lower lip, trying for control, but Edward knows he had the upper hand first.

They pull back at the same moment. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?” he asks, all fake concern as Batman pulls his cowl off in one go and Bruce scrapes his hair back. As soon as Bruce’s hand is out the way his own take its place, running through Bruce’s hair like he’s jealous of his fingers.

“Get up.” Bruce is pulling at catches on his suit, shifting under him to undress.

“No need for that. I’ll give you a hand.” He takes one of Bruce’s hands in his, works the glove away from the sleeve. He’s half expecting to be pushed away, but Bruce allows him. It’s a treat to be allowed to use his brain, Batman’s suit is not simple, and his mind leaps to the challenge. He is so single-minded he barely notices the bruises until Bruce is tugging the top of the suit over his head, upper body exposed. The new injuries are clustered on and under his left arm and shoulder, that side certainly seems to have come off worse in the fight. They sit atop numerous older scars; Bruce’s body has a lot to say about his life.

He holds Bruce’s bicep, fingers gripping between the dabble of red and blue forming bruises. “Who did this to you?” He runs a finger over one particularly large mark and presses down hard before Bruce can answer. Bruce doesn’t react, focussed on the task of tugging his pants off while staying seated. Edward raises his hips to give him room to strip, knees either side of Bruce’s thighs, the two of them filling the chair. He supposes it makes sense that Batman would have a high pain tolerance. He runs his thumb over the mark, fingers pressing into the smooth skin while his other hand presses against Bruce’s chest to keep him stable. “Harvey. Am I right?” Dent is one of the few high-profile Rogues left, and the only one Bruce would make the mistake of allowing to get close enough to land one hit, let alone all these. And it explains his grim expression, looking so brooding when he’s about to get laid.

Bruce pulls a foot up onto the chair, he’s almost undressed, only his boots to go. Edward raises himself yet higher. They’re doing well not to topple the chair in this weird game of twister, but the last thing Edward wants to do is give Bruce any room at all. For first time Edward has his hands free and Bruce is bare before him. He explores his body, tracing the curve of muscle up his arms, digging fingers into his broad shoulders, running one hand run over the firm, warm pectorals to trace a scar, brush a nipple, while the other curls around the nape of Bruce’s neck, tangling into the short hair. “You’re gorgeous, Bruce.” It’s not the most eloquent praise but from the self-satisfied way Bruce smiles up at him for a second, never pausing in his undressing, it adequately expresses his feelings about Bruce’s body.

Bruce chucks his second boot to the floor, now undressed. His hands grip Edward’s hips, dragging him down into his lap. Bruce’s erection is digging into his thigh, but Edward isn’t ready to direct his attention lower yet. Bruce is hard to look away from, hard not to touch, but he can go one better. He drops his head to Bruce’s bicep and kisses each bruise from the smallest up. Bruce curls around him, one hand on the small of his back, head close above his, breath tickling the back of his neck. Edward gives special attention to the largest mark, kissing turning into laps against the skin and then into a bite around the whole bruise. He sucks, still holding the skin between his teeth, and is gratified to feel Bruce flinch. He lets go when a hand tangles in his hair, pulling him up sharply.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asks. Edward could live for that look on Bruce’s face.

“What do you need explained, Bruce? You’re so innocent.”

Bruce glares at him and drops his hand to roughly grip the back of his neck. “No marks, I have meetings today.” He’s taking back control with the kiss he pulls Edward into, all pressed lips and teeth and Bruce’s tongue in his mouth. They’re chest to chest and Bruce’s cock is next to his in the gap between their pelvis’s. He wriggles, trying to bring them flush and Bruce’s arm around his back tightens, keeping him still. He’s not sure he’s ever been so hard.

Bruce breaks the kiss, hands running down his back to cup his ass, pulling him even closer. Edward’s face is close to Bruce’s neck, so he takes his opportunity, peppering small kisses and nips onto the skin. After one especially hard bite Bruce pulls him back by his hair, rougher this time. His cheeks are flushed, but he still looks remarkably composed. “What did I tell you before? Are you ready to put that mouth to better use?”

“Make me.” Edward smiles and subtly, but not very subtly, glances up at Bruce’s hand in his hair.

Bruce’s grip tightens and he pushes him back. “Get on your knees.” His voice isn’t as hard as it could be, like he’s trying it on for show.

Edward scrambles off the chair, glad that Bruce gets it and he doesn’t have to ask. Well, he always was smart. Bruce keeps a tight hold on his hair as Edward kneels in front of him. Leaning his elbows on the chair, either side of Bruce’s thighs, he half moves, half is pulled forward towards his cock.

He takes Bruce’s cock in one hand, feeling how hard it is and the heft, but only giving it the smallest squeeze as he lifts it out of the way. He leans underneath to mouth and lick at Bruce’s balls, and smiles when Bruce flinches as he sucks lightly, probably expecting the same force as on his neck and biceps.

He gives Bruce attention until he relaxes and leans back in the chair, then kisses along his length. As he reaches the tip Bruce’s grip on his hair tightens again and he pulls him forward to take his cock, deep. Edward’s eyes flutter closed as the tip hits his throat, and he controls his gag reflex as he’s pulled back again. He keeps his breathing regular and focuses on not choking. His hands grip the side of Bruce’s firm thighs and his fingers dig into the muscle. He’s not going to touch himself now, he doesn’t need to.

After a few repetitions Bruce’s grip loosens, and he lets Edward take over the movement. Edward looks up, to watch Bruce watch him. He moans around his mouthful of cock and Bruce’s hand tenses and loosens in his hair. Bruce may be looking, but his expression is guarded, and he glances away from eye contact. So Edward closes his eyes and focuses on how good Bruce’s cock feels in his mouth, how he can hear those little breaths, feel the small shudders of his thighs, the vein throbbing with his increased heartbeat just under his fingertips on his inner thigh. That hand in his hair, just holding, almost gentle now, but powerful enough to take back control any time Bruce wants it.

“You love sucking me, don’t you?” Bruce says, like he’s just noticed.

In answer Edward sucks harder, taking him deep enough it’s hard not to choke and holding him there for a beat, hearing the small inhale Bruce gives and licking right back to the tip in an instant before repeating the process.

“Fuck, you’re good at this.” Bruce’s not looking away this time, watching him like he’s amazed. Edward watches him right back, proud of the way Bruce sounds. He loves having his full attention like this, loves what he can do to him. He feels him grow closer and closer to the edge. Sex with Bruce could easily become addictive, he’s so responsive now, giving Edward everything, well almost everything, he wants. Maybe he should feel some shame, specifically because this is Batman, but should and shame are words for lesser men.

He isn’t about to stop Bruce, but he’s kind of glad when he's pulled off just as the cock in his mouth is starting to jerk. “Ah, that’s enough, that’s good.” Bruce pulls him back with the hand in his hair, and his other hand is on his cheek, stroking gently. Bruce is breathing hard, and takes a second before he speaks again. “Get up here.”

He lets Bruce help him up into the chair, to straddle Bruce’s thighs. The chair is parked up against the desk, so at least it’s steadier now. He opens his mouth to speak, but Bruce cuts him off with a kiss. It’s probably a good thing. He’s sure he was going to ask for something, a request that should be held back. Bruce pulls him in, kissing him deep, he must be able to taste himself on his lips. Edward can feel his chest, shuddering, flush against him, can feel his cock, hard and wet, against his. He grinds against it. He’s ignored his own erection until now, but suddenly he’s desperate for Bruce’s hands on him.

“Bruce, touch me, please,” he begs as soon as Bruce breaks the kiss. So much for not embarrassing himself.

Bruce takes hold of his cock and Edward thrusts into the tight grip. “Is that good?”

What does he think? Of course, it’s good. But he can’t bring himself to say that in case Bruce does stop. Instead he ruts into his hand. Half murmurs, half sighs his assent into Bruce’s broad shoulder, “Fuck me.”

Bruce spits on his fingers, never letting go of his cock, and reaches back to cup one ass cheek, lifting him a little. Edward sits forward the rest of the way to allow him to work him open. But he can’t help stiffening as Bruce presses his fingers inside. He’s still sore from yesterday, and it’s not much lube.

Bruce stills, and pulls out. “What is it?”

“It’s just sore. Come on, touch me, it’s fine.” But Bruce just looks at him, like he’s figuring him out, but definitely not fingering him, hand still on his ass. He does at least keep pumping his cock. That gives Edward the incentive to get on with it himself. Bruce’s cock is still wet from his mouth, leaking pre-cum, noticeably neglected. He takes it in hand and rises up on his knees, but Bruce grabs his hips, and sends him crashing down onto his thighs again, empty.

“What? It’s only a little sore,” Edward says. He tries to sit up again but Bruce is holding him down with both hands, so tight he can’t move an inch.

“Edward, you don’t need to hurt yourself for me.”

He gives in. “Whatever. Do what you want.” He wants to make it a complaint, but it comes out far too eager.

Bruce keeps him in place with one hand and closes the other around both of their cocks. Edward looks down at the two flush together, Bruce’s leaning heavily against his. Bruce’s grip is tight, some part of him pressing in on all sides. Edward ruts up into his fist, setting a fast pace.

He wraps his arms around Bruce’s shoulders to balance, and get closer. One of Bruce’s hands still digs into his hip, maybe in an attempt to control his pace. Bruce tries to kiss his neck as he thrusts, only able to leave the smallest of touches.

“I know what you were doing earlier – oh Eddie you’re so smart and dangerous.” He tells Bruce. Mostly because he has to say something and doesn’t just want to beg Bruce to fuck him again.

“Yeah?” He can hear Bruce’s smile.

“You were right, you should be careful.”

“Really? What are you going to do to me? Not suck my dick as good? Get going.” Bruce cups his ass and pulls him closer.

Edward speeds up and Bruce grips harder with a pre-cum slicked fist. Bruce’s cock is tight against his, the ridge of the head rubbing against his slit every time he thrusts up. “Don’t stop,” he gasps.

“You’re the one doing everything, Eddie.”

He wants to berate Bruce for being lazy, or insufferably smug, but he can’t really think of anything bad to say to him when they’re like this. He thrusts harder and buries his head in Bruce’s shoulder in an attempt to avoid calling out his name which doesn’t really work.

When he comes, Bruce pushes him through, hand tightening around and working his pulsing cock on the last frantic thrusts. His orgasm seems to stretch on for minutes, trailing off and then jumping again as he feels Bruce come against him, thrusting himself now, not letting go of his softening cock, just using it to rub off against.

He falls forward. Bruce is panting against him, equally naked and sweaty. “Eddie, you’re so loud,” Bruce murmurs against his temple, but when he leans back he doesn’t look too upset about it.

“Want me to be quieter?”

“No.”

Bruce uses his boxers to clean them both off, dropping the clothing to the floor afterwards in a way Edward would be more disgusted by if he weren’t so sated.

Edward gets up, slowly, unfolding his limbs and standing back on the unpleasantly hard floor. Bruce follows him. He gives him a look Edward cannot read at all, before glancing up to the higher levels of the cave. “Better get cleaned up.”

Edward is only half surprised when Bruce joins him in the shower. It makes sense of course, for efficiency, why wait? They still have that post-orgasm ease of movement and touch as he brushes against Bruce.

They don’t wash each other, keeping eyes respectfully averted as they share the water. But after, Bruce turns to put the shampoo back on the shower shelf and he is about to step out and they end up face to face. Bruce reaches out to him like it’s nothing and he lets him. It’s lucky Bruce is so easy to kiss. And good that he is letting his guard down. Edward closes his eyes against the rush of water and relaxes into Bruce’s arms.

…

When Bruce returns him to the cage and reassures him he will be back in a minute with food, Edward feels a little uncomfortable at fake niceness of it all, but it doesn’t seem to matter as much as before.


	8. Chapter 8

“When do you find time to sleep?”

Bruce has arrived a little earlier tonight, again. He sits across the table, meal finished, dressed for patrol except for his gloves and cowl. He looks relaxed and well-rested, despite the long hours patrolling and the increasing time he’s spending in the cave. “Most of the day. It’s not as though I have a day job.”

“But you do have a company to run.” Edward wraps his blanket tighter around himself. The time for Bruce to leave is creeping up, and he’d like to keep his attention a while longer, for entertainment.

“I pay a lot of people very well to run it for me.”

Is there a hint of defensiveness in Bruce’s voice? Edward had the impression he was a bit more involved than that, nowadays. Still, that could have been a ruse, to throw people off the Batscent. “You’re not worried about giving others so much control over your own company?” Because that's gone so well in the past.

“I’m taking a backseat, not handing it over. I have other things to focus on right now.”

Like ‘saving’ Gotham, obviously. Or spending time here.

Bruce looks a little less relaxed now, watching him like he’s waiting for an argument. Well, he’ll have to wait. Bruce’s mistakes aren’t Edward’s problems. He tries another tack. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you – watching you glare into the middle distance would be the highlight of anyone’s day – but I am surprised you’re here tonight. No events to attend? Are there no lonely supermodels left in Gotham? What happened to keeping up your playboy image?”

“I have more important things to do.” Bruce stretches. “And I am going out tonight.”

Once Bruce decides he doesn’t waste time. As he picks up the gloves and pulls them on, Edward can see him changing from Bruce to Batman mode. Not that he’s always consistent, Edward has learned, wearing the suit or vice versa doesn’t always line up with the role he’s in, but it’s a good indicator.

Edward stretches too, yawns, tries to catch his eye. “Perhaps I should give you a blowjob before you head out. For the romance.”

Bruce doesn’t manage a smile. “I need to focus.”

Not that Edward expected any different. He’ll have him when he returns, as he does every morning – hurriedly over the railing, taking his time with him on his knees, once in a bed – a pull-out from a drawer by the computer which Edward had only theorised existed. He is for stress relief after the job is done.

And in return Edward is compliant, in full control, and patient.

He follows up the stairs quietly as Bruce walks, cowl in hand.

Bruce is about to open the cage when he stops, seems to consider something, and pivots back towards Edward. Edward is slammed up against the cage wall, one gloved hand behind his head to lessen the impact and push him forward to meet Bruce’s lips. The kiss is hungry, and short. Bruce pulls back with a smile. “Hey, it is Valentine’s day.”

…

Edward’s not expecting the roar of the Batmobile’s engine, only hours later. He stands and watches the car idle into its space. Batman has never returned this soon. He doesn’t look injured as he gets out, a little dejected at worst. Maybe he has research he needs to do here? But the Bat bypasses the computer and heads up the stairs towards him.

Bruce pulls off the cowl as he opens the cage. Edward picks up a blanket, shrugging it around his shoulders. From Bruce’s expression he can tell this isn’t going to be a hard, fast and desperate thing. “Bored without me?” He steps out.

“It’s Valentine’s day,” Bruce says, as if that hadn’t been established earlier. “And it’s raining. No one’s out.”

“So, you’re going to spend time with me, aren’t I lucky?”

Edward leads the way downstairs. He’s not sure what to do with this newfound time with Bruce, so he starts talking. “Did you know there were several St Valentines? And none of them particularly into romantic love. Turns out it’s not a big thing for saints. Valentine’s day began as a feast day honouring martyrs but over time it’s turned into a day for lovers. A good example of the people turning the Christian church’s celebrations into their own. And nowadays, of rampant commercialism.”

He hesitates at the table. Bruce sits first, taking a quick gulp from the water bottle he’s taken to leaving here. Edward joins him on the other side.

“It seems to be keeping the criminals off the streets.”

“That sounds like regret, Bruce. Shouldn’t you want there to be less crime to fight?” But Batman was never about that, was he? And this new Batman, whatever he’s about, still has that same singlemindedness. “You don’t appreciate a night off? There’s a patron saint for almost everything, you know. Joseph, Jesus’ stepdad, is the patron saint of workers, but I’m not sure there’s one for workaholics.”

Bruce fiddles absently with the label on his water, still half out on the streets of Gotham. It must have been really quiet out for him to come back. “Is there a patron saint of bats?” Bruce asks.

He does have his some of his attention then. He can get it all. “I don’t believe there is. St Francis is the patron saint of animals. He might be the closest. Are you gunning for that position? Might need to spend a little more time on your knees.”

“What about riddles?”

“No,” he’s looked into that before, “not even a good candidate for puzzles. Thomas Aquinas is the patron saint of learning, along with almost all educational institutions. I’ll go with him if I ever feel I could use a saint. You might be better off going for godhood. You could take over from Camazotz and rip people’s heads off while guarding the underworld, or be like Leutogi, more of a bat saviour. Or there are plenty of bat demons to choose from.”

“I know. I do know about bats.”

“Of course you do.” But apparently they don’t interest him enough to get him talking. “So, usually the Joker would do something for you today. I suppose any dates you’d have to move to the following weekend or similar. Do you ever bring dates down here? Has anyone even seen this cave besides me?” Maybe not recently, but he doubts Bruce could have done all this by himself. And someone kept it clean before Bruce stopped bothering. Then again, Bruce is one of the few things he’s been wrong about in the past.

“Of course not.”

Bruce needs time to wind down, if he eases up now they can probably end up having a pleasant conversation, but where’s the fun in that? “Riddle me this. Last flicker of a candle, tracks on asphalt, a flash of electricity and a sudden crash, I’ll make you ill, I’ll buy your pills, I’ll leave not a drop of fuel to spill.”

It appears Bruce is going to ignore it, like he does with most of his riddles. “You know anything about caves, Edward?”

He knows what Bruce is doing. But he can’t risk not answering. “I’m sure even you have heard of cavemen Bruce, but most pre-historic people didn’t choose to live in caves. Why would they? Caves are dark, damp, and often inhabited by predators. Throughout history the majority of people occupying caves have been desperate outcasts, hermits, or people fleeing war and oppression with nowhere else to go. Oh, and criminals.”

“Sounds like we’re both in the right place.” Bruce would still rather look at his water bottle than at him.

“Are you familiar with Zimbardo’s work – the Stanford prison experiment? He argues that both captors and prisoners tend to de-individualise and end up identifying completely with their roles. So even though I have paid for my crimes and been released, and you have murdered countless people, while I’m trapped here in your cave dungeon that counts for nothing. You get to play the good role and I the bad.”

“Really?” He can hear the warning in Bruce’s tone, but it’s not nearly enough yet. Still he finds himself half-wanting to drop the subject, not out of fear, but because some part of him doesn’t particularly want to make Bruce unhappy. Which is not like him. But he supposes he has had to get used to walking a sharp edge here – these strange, passing feelings are to be expected.

“So, I’m valuable to you. Not only because you can look at me and see yourself as a winner, or because you can fuck me and feel powerful. What a contradiction, keeping me here illegally, using me and denying me my freedom makes you feel like a good person.”

“You seem to enjoy it too.”

He’s about to say that he never wanted to be here, that was Bruce’s choice – but that would be basically admitting that Batman defeated him, and maybe the look Bruce just gave him has him a little distracted. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be”– is what comes out.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? You’re too smart for me to ever beat you, so you must want this, right?”

He has a comeback for that, but it never gets out, because Bruce is striding round the table towards him. He flinches back, but Bruce just grabs him around the waist and heaves him up. He seems to be aiming for over his shoulder, but Edward’s not having that, and with his wriggling he ends up bridal style in Bruce’s arms, being carried around the table over to where the fold out bed is.

He pulls the blanket further around him with one arm, the other holding onto Bruce’s shoulder. “Brute.”

Bruce sighs dramatically, his chest moving against Edward’s side. “So ungrateful, when I’m indulging you and letting you out early. I could be doing anything I want.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Bruce presses the button to release the bed with his foot, and it expands out of its cupboard space with a hiss of hydraulic springs. A bit over-the-top for a bed, but this is Batman, who would expect anything else? Edward’s placed down gently, which he didn’t expect. He watches Bruce strip quickly, and climb onto the bed next to him. Bruce mirrors Edward’s kneeling position, leaning in to kiss him with a force that pushes his head back. Bruce’s hands slide down to grasp Edward’s hips, pulling him closer with a jerk, while Edward grips Bruce’s biceps equally hard in return. Edward can feel the tension running through Bruce, disappointment and that need to do something – anything, now being converted into action.

As soon as the kiss becomes a little gentler Bruce breaks it, spinning Edward around so his back is pressed against his chest, folding his arms around him to trap him in a vicelike grip

Bruce mouths at his throat, kissing once before biting down at the juncture between neck and shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, probably not even hard enough to mark, but enough that it is all Edward feels. He shudders. For all he is playing at being controlled here, right now in this moment he is helpless to stop Bruce, and the thought is exciting. That the solid body behind him is Bruce, Batman, his rival, his only equal, is even more exciting. He grips Bruce’s wrist as one of the hands holding him in place moves, rolling his nipple roughly between thumb and forefinger. He supresses his first instinct to try to stop him, that would be pointless even if he wanted to, and just holds on. Bruce’s teeth release his flesh and Edward leans back to meet him in a kiss.

Bruce is thrusting slightly against him, pre-cum easing his cock’s journey between his ass cheeks and up to his tailbone. Edward grinds back against him and reaches down to grip his own cock, moaning against Bruce’s mouth. He gets one pump in before Bruce’s hand is on his, entangling their fingers and pinning his hand against his stomach. He whimpers, and Bruce takes the opportunity to kiss deeper. Bruce keeps him there for what feels like a long time, and no time at all, kissing him, playing with him, until he’s squirming against him, biting his lip to try to stop the noises escaping him. “Bruce, please.”

“Shh, not yet.” Bruce’s voice is almost soothing, reassuring in his control. Almost.

Edward lets go of his grip on Bruce’s arm, not sure if he wants to stop him or try to touch himself again. It doesn’t matter. Bruce grabs his wrist right away, pins both hands in one, and switches his attention to the other nipple.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” he admits, Bruce’s touch is the perfect place between gentle and rough.

Bruce kisses him again, like a reward. Then pulls back to give him an appraising look. Edward can’t tell if he’s happy with what he sees, but he does push him forward, onto his hands and knees. Bruce’s cock is hard against his ass, wet tip playing at his entrance as Bruce shifts position behind him. Is he going to try to have him dry? “I’m ready.”

“Not for what I want to do to you.” Bruce keeps rubbing his cock against his hole though, pressing hard against the soft skin.

“Come on Bruce, I’m sure it’s fine, you’re not that big.” Bruce closes in, and for a second Edward thinks he’s going to rise to the bait, but instead he reaches around to take Edward’s cock in a tight grip, jerking it twice. Edward’s sensitive enough to jump, back of his head narrowly missing colliding with Bruce’s. He’s shoved down against the bed with a hand between his shoulder blades, and Bruce growls at him to stay.

Edward feels Bruce’s weight leave the bed, and listens to his movements, hurried and unusually uncoordinated, until he hears the sound of slicking on his cock. It’s only then he wonders why he’s being so obedient, ass in the air ready for his enemy, and looks to the side.

Bruce disappears behind him. Hands grip his ass cheeks, pulling them apart. A finger presses against his entrance, not penetrating yet. “How’s that?”

“It’s good, come on.” He pushes back, and Bruce attempts to hold him still, but with lube on his hands it’s more of a controlled slide. Bruce’s hand releases his ass before landing down in a stinging smack. For a moment Edward’s breath sticks in his chest, and then he breathes out. He’s… not sure about that.

He goes still while trying to figure it out. He’d never have let any of his other sexual partners spank him, it’s too close to home, but he’s let Bruce do many things he wouldn’t allow others. Then Bruce slides a finger inside him and presses down, taking his cock in hand at the same time with a hard, slow pull. The blend of unexpected sensation is overwhelming, and Edward’s mind turns clear, a spike of pure pleasure rising up his spine. He moans, digging his fingers into the sheets below him, head resting on his hands.

Both hands leave him far too soon, and Edward presses his mouth against his own hands to stop the whine that forces its way out turning into words. He can’t trust himself right now, not sure what he’s going to ask for or reveal. He feels shaky, unusually uncertain. He gulps, trying to ground himself. Bruce must want him like this, and Bruce shouldn’t get what he wants. It’s not fair to spend time getting him on edge and then…

But it seems Bruce is as impatient as him. The tip of his cock presses at his entrance for a second before filling him. He gasps, shaking a little. “Good?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah,” he manages to get out.

Bruce builds up to a hard pace, hands gripping his hips, pulling him back onto his cock as he fucks him into the mattress. It’s all Edward can do to stay in place, and he doesn’t even try to stop the cries and whimpers escaping him.

Eventually even Bruce has to slow, breathing hard. His thrusts might be rough still, even if slower, but his hands, running over Edward’s back to his shoulder and stroking down his side to his hip, are gentle. “You like that?” His voice is low and close behind Edward’s ear. “You like me taking you hard?”

“Yes,” he pants, “Bruce, please, please touch me again.”

Bruce stops moving, halfway inside him, and for a moment Edward’s afraid he’s going to ignore him, but then his hand tightens around his cock. The pressure is perfect as he’s stroked, and his eyes roll closed.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Bruce asks.

Edward moans noncommittally. The only thing that could make this better would be if Bruce were still thrusting. He presses back, fucking himself on Bruce’s still cock.

Bruce lets go of his cock, slams a hand down on his ass, and thrusts into him equally hard. “Answer me. Or are you enjoying yourself too much?”

Partly. He’s not sure how to answer without submitting or asking Bruce to stop, neither of which sound like viable options.

Bruce grips his hip one-handed and rams into him, spanking him hard, once, twice. Edward instinctively tries to wriggle away and finds himself pinned in place, at the same time reaching back to try to cover his ass. His arm is gripped tight and twisted behind his back, throwing him off balance for a second before he catches himself with the other hand.

Which gives him an idea. Edward carries on the movement, twisting into the hold. He’s estimated right, Bruce isn’t expecting to actually have to break his arm, and he gives just enough to let Edward roll onto his back, pulling Bruce, still inside him, down with him, legs curling around his waist to land him on top of him. Bruce’s arm ends up pressed against his chest, and Edward pulls his hand up to his throat, eyes locked on Bruce’s. If Bruce wants to hurt him, he can have this alternative option. He doesn’t take it, though the pressure of his arm against his chest as he levers himself up means Edward has to take shallow breaths anyway.

Bruce looks at him, considering, and Edward’s unable to break the eye contact even if it’s uncomfortable, even if he feels like Bruce can see right through him to things that should stay hidden under rocks. Then Bruce moves inside him, and the spell is broken. Edward grips tighter with his legs, pulling him closer. He reaches up to wrap his arms around him and pull him in and kiss him, he wants to take Bruce’s mind and focus it only on this one point. Bruce’s hands run through his hair while Edward digs nails into his back. Bruce’s stomach is flat against his cock, rubbing enough that he can almost come like this, especially with the cock now thrusting into him.

Bruce puts just enough space between them to take Edward’s cock in hand, and speeds up. Edward tries to hold back, but Bruce is looking at him with an appreciation he’s never shown any of his schemes, spurring him on. For a moment any negative thought is driven away as Bruce’s hand tightens around him and his cock thrusts into him, and that moment takes him. Bruce grips him through his orgasm, squeezing out every drop, his thrusts growing deep and uneven as Edward feels him pulse and spill inside him.

Bruce collapses on top of him. Edward is too focussed on breathing and his rushing heart to feel anything but pleasantly relaxed. Then he realises he can’t move. He thought they were done with that. “Bruce, will you get off me? I’d like to clean up.”

Bruce mumbles something, and rolls off of him. Edward sits up and looks for something to clean himself with. Finding nothing, and inspired by Bruce tugging over the corner of the sheet and lazily wiping off his stomach with it, not even bothering to open his eyes, he does the same with his side of the sheet. He’s about to ask Bruce if he’s planning to lie here all night, when Bruce reaches up and pulls him down next to him, turning him so he can spoon against his back, and hugging him close.

“You want to cuddle?” Edward struggles a little, but it’s more of a token fight.

“You have somewhere better to be?” Bruce murmurs behind him.

Will Bruce risk falling asleep? Despite the post coital relaxation, Edward doesn’t feel tired at all now. Not that he wants to move exactly. Bruce is warm at his back, and the cave is cold. It’s surprising how comfortable he feels in Bruce’s arms, considering everything between them, but their bodies always seem to fit well together. It’s not usual for him to take comfort in another’s body outside of sex, but this is no ordinary situation.

“Bruce?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t sound that sleepy, really.

“You enjoy making me come, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm, you like it too.”

“Well, that won’t happen if you spank me.” He searches for something to offer Bruce, some kind of deal. “It’s not like there aren’t plenty of other things you can do.”

“Like this?” Bruce adjusts an arm under him, bringing up a hand to lightly grip his throat.

“If you want.”

Bruce plays a finger over his Adam’s apple. “Why not? Scared?”

“No, just does nothing for me.” No way he’s expanding on that. He’d rather have Bruce spank him than tell him why.

“Okay.” Bruce relaxes, resting his hand between Edward’s throat and chest, and nuzzles into his hair like he’s smelling him. He probably is, who knows what goes on in Bruce’s mind. He’s been a bat too long, although how that explains this completely inappropriate fluffiness Edward’s not sure. He runs a finger along the back of Bruce’s hand, to touch each fingertip, and surveys the cave from here.

He counts items, looking for threes, as Bruce’s breath tickles the back of his neck. He wriggles against him, somehow ending up even more flush against him, even deeper in his grip. He used to not like threes, preferring a nice round number, but he’s grown to have an appreciation for them, after all, three is manageable, useful, a triangle. He’s not sure exactly what he’s looking for, but it must be there, otherwise why would he be sticking with this vantage point?

For information, obviously. “You’ve been planning on bringing me here for some time.”

“Have I?”

“You had a cage set up.”

“It’s just a cage. Just in case.”

“Just in case what? Have you ever kept an enemy here before me? I don’t think so. You didn’t seem to know what to do when you first brought me here. The cage is new isn’t it? So, it could be for anyone? Why me then, why not Joker?”

Bruce gives a small fake laugh, the kind he hates second most, next to real laughs directed at him. “You think I could keep the Joker here?”

Well obviously not now, considering you killed him. “But it’s safe to keep me here?”

“Maybe not.” Bruce throws a heavy calf over his, pinning him even further. Edward’s not sure if it’s in acknowledgement that he’s dangerous or just because it’s getting colder as they lay still for longer, though Bruce does feel wonderfully warm against him. He relaxes further, he feels like a lizard, absorbing all Bruce’s warmth, or some small mammal after mating. It’s not so bad being slightly crushed by Bruce, it feels sort of – well it’s the truth of the situation, they are animals in this way, Bruce has claimed him, it was pleasant enough, he might as well let his animal brain enjoy the afterglow if it wishes, since his higher brain has made the choice not to fight against it. Good thing that he does like it, better than the alternative, no matter what smaller minds might think it says about him.

He’s aware he’s gone awfully quiet. “So why take the risk?”

Edward feels Bruce shrug. He doesn’t seem in a hurry to move or answer otherwise.

“I’m sure Bruce Wayne doesn’t have a problem getting laid.”

“Why? You think I’m good-looking?”

“You know you are.”

“It’s always been too dangerous to let the women I date get close. Especially now.” Bruce strokes a hand through his hair. He’s gentle and careful, and it feels nice, but Edward still has to fight the urge not to flinch away. Maybe Bruce realises that, because he only does it once. Or maybe none of this is about him, and he’s just lucky that what Bruce wants sometimes lines up with what he wants.

“You don’t really need to let them get close.” So that’s what Bruce wants, intimacy. Which is clear right now, really. And he wants someone to see him here, in his cave, to know him, and Batman. And for some reason Edward is the lucky guy.

“Just sex isn’t enough. I need…”

“Something rougher?”

“No. Maybe. But not always. I just need… sex on my terms. I need someone here when I come back from the fight, and it’s not as though I can ask that of just anyone. I can’t keep a normal person here and ruin their life. You were the only one that fit.”

“So, it’s fine to ruin my life?” He can think of at least one other person who would have fit.

“I know the kind of sex you’ve been having lately. I hoped you might even enjoy it.”

“Hmm…” Edward’s not sure what to say to that. Of course he does, sometimes, Bruce must realise that. Obviously, it matters to Bruce, somewhat. But he’s searching through the words for what he’s missing. Is the explanation too simple, or does he just want it to be? Want to find some meaning to this beyond Bruce being horny and a newfound lack of self-control?

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?” Bruce breaks through his thoughts.

“I flirt with everyone, you’re not special.”

“Yes, and when you do, it’s all about you. You always have half an eye on your reflection. But you watch me. And I know you like it when I take you down. It’s exciting. It’s okay, I like it too. Besides, what else could I do with you? You’re too pretty to kill.”

Bruce nuzzles his hair again, and Edward carefully doesn’t react to it, or the compliment either. Flattery is his weakness, but it’s hard not to appreciate Bruce’s acknowledgements, especially since in the past they’ve been so rare. He reminds himself that probably the biggest reason he is here is that the Joker is dead.

“There’s another reason too, you’ll probably figure it out before I tell you.” Bruce adds, and the silence after is heavy. Edward can tell he’s waiting for him to ask. Edward is sure there is something else. He’s equally sure that he will figure it out. He’s only surprised that he hasn’t already.

Bruce’s behaviour since he came here hasn’t given him many clues. A few questions about Rogues, but mostly he seems to have wanted him for exactly what he said that first night, sex. And maybe someone to talk to. He’s lonely, he’s pushed people away, he has a drive to clear Gotham of crime that’s gone far beyond obsessive, and he seems to have given up on the absolutes in terms of morality he was once so fond of. But all those speak of is the change in him. None of them tell him why, or what happened.

“You actually seem dangerous when you’re quiet.” Bruce brushes through his hair again, and this time Edward shakes him off. The spell is breaking, the endorphin rush that has allowed them to lie here together in peace for a moment wearing off. Bruce doesn’t seem too happy about it. “If you want to know why you’re here, a better question might be – how did I catch you so easily? Are you losing touch? Or was it on purpose? You said yourself – you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be.”

For all Bruce’s needling douchiness it isn’t a bad question. How could someone like him could be outthought by a Neanderthal like Bruce? Especially one who is currently undergoing what could at best be described as a psychological crisis. Had he underestimated Batman? Of course he had; Batman never sets traps for him. Had some subconscious part of him wanted to be caught? Honestly, if he had anticipated this outcome his rational brain would likely have considered it worth it. And that does make sense, doesn’t it? This situation makes a lot more sense if you stop trying to consider each person to be merely one player. “That’s not what I meant. And as for how you caught me, the answer’s simple, I play by the rules, and you cheat.”

Bruce laughs again, the one he really doesn’t like. “You’re a broken record.”

Yep, that comfortable in his arms feeling is well and truly over. But he’s not going to move first. “You still haven’t told me why?”

“Why?”

“The Batman, Bruce Wayne, I knew would never have kept someone prisoner for sex in his home, would never have killed, would never describe mourning his parents as wasted time.” Every time he’s brought up Batman’s change in his no kill rule Bruce has shut it down like he’s allergic to the subject. This seems like the perfect time to try again.

The body behind him has gone very still. “Maybe you don’t know me that well.”

“That makes two of us. I don’t believe this avoidance is your standard none of your business bravado. You know that something’s changed in you, but you don’t understand it. You might genuinely think you don’t care. But some part of you recognises that all is not right, and that part wants an answer. And who else would you bring here to solve a puzzle?”

“You’re outthinking yourself, Nygma. There’s nothing about me left to solve.”

But Edward smiles, both at Bruce’s tone and the certainty that he’s onto something here. Now that’s a compliment, Batman needs him to solve a puzzle he can’t. “You knew what you were doing when you brought me here.”

Bruce is sitting up behind him. “Come on, I’m done with you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Edward checks in with the mirror as he runs the razor across his jaw. His sideburns are coming in nicely, still a bit stubbly, but the shape’s there. His hair’s grown too, and loose like this it makes him look younger, which is fine, he’s not even thirty yet, no matter what birth certificates and forehead creases might say. It’s a comfort to see his old self again. Looks are important, it’s a shame he had learnt that so late in life, amongst other things. And this is how he should look right now – he should be trying to get back to who he was, not away from it. Bruce shouldn’t be able to forget he’s dealing with the man who almost has, and will, defeat him.

Though it's difficult to tell what Bruce is trying to do, if anything. He's sitting next to him now, eating, as usual. Edward has the sudden urge to cut him. Pop the blade out and he’s sure he can get in one swipe. It won’t do much, but it will show Bruce that he’s a threat, that he can’t be ignored in favour of soup, of all things. He sits still through the impulse. These violent urges are below him and they do tend to pass if acknowledged and discarded.

He drops the razor into a glass of water, and examines the finished result once more, before turning to Bruce. “Well?”

Bruce glances at him for a second, then nods. “Very handsome,” he says, in a way that gives Edward no idea at all what he really thinks, if anything.

It doesn’t matter, this isn’t about Bruce. Edward adjusts the blanket, draped around him toga style, and stands and walks to the water. Crouching down to tip the soapy glass out, he watches the suds mix into the flow, observing the rate and direction. He goes through the list in his head, once again, just in case he’s missed anything.

Some days it feels like he hasn’t enough time to finish a thought, and he longs for solitude. A few weeks to set the world right in his mind and catch up on his reading. Invariably whenever he does try a retreat like that he gets bored after a day or so, remembering that his mind works a lot faster than anyone else’s, and therefore requires a little more stimulation.

But here he doesn’t get to quit early. In the first week he had so much to think about that the buzz of his brain was mostly a happy one, feeding off every new thing here, every possible opportunity – the cave, the Bat – so many trails to follow down, answers and plans spiralling off into darkness. But after that first week even the vast hole the Bat cave had opened up for inspection had become mostly illuminated – with only a few dark corners not safe to explore yet. He had only had the same well-trodden paths to walk again. And only Bruce to talk to. Who, while certainly more interesting than most, is not currently sharing those parts of himself with him, spending his time in the cave eating and fucking, and refusing to engage with the puzzles and intellectual debates Edward offers up.

He has begun to crave outside stimulation. He could keep his mind fresh with puzzles of his own devising as he had so often in Arkham, but it isn’t the best use of his time if an alternative is available. As much as he knows, there is always more to learn. His knowledge of theoretical physics is nowhere near up to date, he has only scratched the surface of recent developments regarding the lymphatic system in the brain, and there are always more football scores to memorise. Wayne Manor has quite the library.

He’s sure Bruce will bring him books if he asks nicely. So, he has to find another way to get them.

He walks back to the table, and swings his legs over the bench, to sit regarding Bruce, one hand propping up his chin. Bruce is still eating, a remarkable feat.

“Bruce?”

“Yes, Eddie.” Bruce doesn’t look up.

Eddie is not his favourite term of address. It either reminds him of his childhood or sounds condescending. He tolerates it from some people, namely Selina, since she stubbornly refuses to call him anything else. With Bruce he feels like it’s intended to fake an intimacy they don’t have. With Batman he doesn’t mind so much, in fact it’s given him shivers since the first time he used it, it proves how he affects the cold Bat, to crack open those emotions and make him feel the need to talk down to him. And the only time he prefers it is in bed, maybe because he’s gotten used to being called Edward during sex. “Hmm, shall I call you Bruce or Batman?” Bruce-Batman is already dressed and ready to head out for the night, minus cowl and gloves.

“Whichever you prefer.”

“Prefer? Bruce, Batman, Batman, Bruce. Bruce would be easier to ask, less menacing. Then again, there’s some things I prefer Batman for.”

“Unsurprising.” Bruce does look up now. “What do you want to ask?”

“Isn’t it early for you to be going out? It’s still light outside, isn’t it? Not that I would know.”

“Crime doesn’t keep to a schedule.”

“I guess you really meant it about not hiding who you are.”

Bruce shrugs. “I’m surprised you only just realised.”

Batman’s secret can’t have been out that long. It wasn’t revealed when he came here, and he’s been here less than two weeks. He searches his memory for the hint that will tell him the day. “You’re still wearing the costume.”

“It’s armour.”

“You’re really not bothered about your identity being out there?” He can’t think of anyone who would have divulged it, so it seems likely it’s true, Bruce simply doesn’t care enough to strive to keep it secret. “What about this place?”

“The manor is well defended. If anyone challenges me here, I would have had to fight them anyway. It’s not necessary to keep a separate identity any longer. It was getting in the way.”

Bruce is getting his stuff together, getting ready to head out. Used to the routine now, Edward stands and waits for him.

“So, just curious,” he asks Bruce on the stairs, “What happens to me if you die out there?” He knows exactly what happens if Bruce dies, he gets this place and all its secrets unchallenged. But Bruce hasn’t paid him enough attention today, distracted, as he so often is.

“I won’t.”

“Is that your plan? Wonderful. But what if you do?”

“If I die, I’ve failed. You might as well go free.” It’s not the response he expected, though it might be the only one that makes sense. It makes complete sense the idea leaves a strange feeling in his gut, what a waste it would be if someone else defeated Batman before he could.

…

When he returns, for all Bruce’s talk of not needing dual identities, he is definitely Batman. The way he grabs Edward’s bicep and shoves him up against the stone wall as soon as he’s out of the cage makes that as clear as the glare under his cowl. Batman is always rougher. He’s tight against him, trapping him against the wall, lips and teeth against his.

Edward reaches out to grip his hips and Batman growls against his mouth. “Keep your hands at your sides.”

“Not fair. Your hands are allowed to go where they want.” The hand on his bicep tightens reflexively.

Batman pulls back a bit, enough for Edward to see his serious expression and still feel his breath on his lips. “Are you arguing with me, Riddler?”

He likes it when Batman uses any of his names, really. In response he lets one hand fall to the side against the cold wall, and reaches for Batman’s cock with the other, even though his hand only flexes over hard armour.

Batman stares at him for a beat, maybe giving him a chance to back down. Of course, that’s not going to happen. The Bat spins him round, slamming him into the wall so hard it knocks half the breath out of him, and wrenches his hands behind his back. He cuffs him quickly and none too gently, before turning him back to face him.

Edward wriggles a little, to test the cuffs. He could get out of them, but probably not with Batman staring at him like this. The Bat is still tight against him, pinning him with most of his body, and he’s able to angle himself to lightly thrust against his thigh and up into the crease of his hip, though Batman’s arm across his shoulder prevents him when he tries to lean in for a kiss. He watches Batman regard him, deciding what to do with him, and grinds against his thigh.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“I’m trying to.” It’s not enough, not nearly. But he can finish like this if given enough time, if Batman won’t do something else with him.

Batman doesn’t seem impressed with his answer. “You know I don’t need to get you off. I could have you and leave you unsatisfied if I want.”

“So do it.” He knows the Bat likes how he can make him come, it’s part of his need for dominance.

Batman bares his teeth and wraps his hand around Edward’s throat, tight enough to cut his breath off, just for a second.

A shiver runs through him. He’d never give in so easily with anyone else, but why try to hold out when the Bat is right here, obviously desperate to give him exactly what he needs? “I thought you liked helping people, Batman? Why not help me?”

Batman’s intense gaze doesn’t falter. He doesn’t move. “What do you want?”

Edward restrains himself from humping his leg with a shudder, trying to be good now. “Touch me.” He pushes his upper body forward, against Batman’s hand at his windpipe.

“Why should I?” For the first time this morning he thinks he sees an emotion besides anger in the Bat’s expression, a touch of amusement, or pleasure. The Bat likes making him beg.

So he does. “Please, I need you. I need your hands on me, your cock in me. I’ll do anything.” He’s trying to look sincere, well, sincere enough.

“Will you?” Batman pretends to consider. Edward hopes he’s pretending.

“Anything you want, I’m yours–”

Apparently, that’s enough. Batman’s hand tightens enough Edward can just barely choke out a breath around it, and his cock jumps in response. The hand is big enough to feel like a collar around his throat, strong enough to manoeuvre him into place. He flattens his hands against the wall behind him as he’s pushed up against it, and waits to see what the Bat will do. His cock jumps again when Batman grasps it, kissing him roughly, further cutting off his breath.

When Batman breaks the kiss, Edward moans, or tries to, but the sound is cut off by the hand on his throat. Batman’s other glove slips over the sensitive skin of his cock, pumping hard, grip almost as tight as the one on his throat. Edward pulls futilely against the cuffs as the first rush of not being able breathe settles and his lungs begin to ache for oxygen.

Just as his vision starts to grey Batman relaxes his grip, enough for him to draw breath before the hold tightens again, the Bat never breaking eye contact from behind his cowl. There’s a tinge of fear at the base of Edward’s spine, but it doesn’t reach his mind, Batman is a contradiction, unknowable, unpredictable, but somehow he has come to know when he can feel safe in his hands.

His head is swimming. Batman closes in, chest to chest, crushing him against the wall. Edward’s kept still, only breathing when the Bat chooses to let him, until the grip becomes hard and constant, on his cock and his throat. He’s pushed over the edge, the hold around his neck easing as he comes so he can finally suck a breath into his burning lungs.

He struggles to keep his footing as he comes back down to earth, leaning back against the wall and coughing, gasping in air.

Batman stands in front of him, a hand on his shoulder to support him, which drops when he sees Edward isn’t going to fall. His face isn’t giving much away, and Edward looks down for a hint as to whether they’re done. He smiles at seeing his cum all over the Bat’s suit, it just makes an amusing contrast with his stern expression. “You’ve got a little something on you.”

The Bat’s expression doesn’t get any more amused. “Whose fault is that?”

“I think there’s blame enough for two, but I’ll apologise if it makes you feel better.” He bends down, carefully with his hands still bound. On his knees he examines Batman’s armoured stomach. “You really are a mess. While I’m down here why don’t I clean you up?” He licks one streak of cum, salty on the tip of his tongue, and looks up to gage the Bat’s reaction.

He’s learning the Bat’s tells now. Batman’s expression doesn’t change, but he’s watching him, and there’s that little pause before he speaks, like he’s about to clear his throat, but then doesn’t, which Edward likes, a lot. “Why don’t you?”

Edward does. He licks him clean carefully and thoroughly, looking up to maintain eye contact until Batman reaches down to tangle his fingers in his hair. Not directing, just holding, as if to remind him he’s there. He goes to work diligently. If he hadn’t been doing so little all day, if the Bat hadn’t gotten him off so quick, he probably wouldn’t be able to get hard again so soon, but he has and he did, and he can already feel stirring down below. He wishes he could feel the Bat’s cock too, he leans his cheek against the cold armour covering it for a moment.

“You are a good boy, aren’t you?” Batman sounds surprised, and possibly Edward’s reading too much into it, even a little impressed, at what he will do. Good, he’d do a lot to throw him off. The fingers tighten, directing his head up. “You missed a spot. Hurry up. I’ve got plans for you.”

As soon as he’s finished the Bat hauls him to his feet. They stare at each other, and Edward moves in for a kiss, but Batman’s fingers are in his hair again, keeping his head still. Edward closes his eyes, and smiles when Batman leans in and kisses him.

The Bat pulls away and spins him to face the wall. Edward leans against it, one shoulder more prominent, and hears Batman hurriedly undoing his belt behind him. He smiles at his rush. “What are you going to do to me, Batman?”

Batman doesn’t answer for a moment, and Edward thinks he’s not going to play, but then he moves in close behind him, hands hitting the wall either side of him, trapping him in, and growls in his ear, a sound that goes straight to his cock. “I’m going to make you scream, Nygma.”

The porn dialogue is pretty lame, but it’s working well enough. And the Bat probably will, but now he’s said it he’s going to have to work hard for it. His armoured chest is hard against Edward’s back, Edward presses his ass back against him and finds the only uncovered, but still hard, part of him. “You think so? Should I be scared of the big bad Bat?”

Edward’s pushed forward, face against the wall as Batman palms his cheeks, spreading him. “You’ll probably enjoy it. You always do. Tell me Eddie, what do you like best about submitting to your enemy?”

He’s gone from Riddler to Nygma to Eddie now. “Your massive cock, obviously.” It’s not the only thing, but it’s the least personal one to say.

“This?” One hand lets go of his ass cheek and a second later something warm and hard is pressing at his hole. He presses back against it to show enthusiasm. “Keep still.” The hand moves away, and the Bat’s cock too. He tenses for a blow, but it doesn’t come. Instead lubed fingers press at his asshole. One pushes inside. “You need to relax, or you’re never going to be able to handle me.”

Edward slows his breathing, and tries to relax, but his shoulder is pressed uncomfortably against the wall. He tries to move into a more comfortable position and Batman wraps an arm around his chest, pulling him back against him. He goes as limp as he can in his arms, just enough to stay standing as a second finger presses inside. He sighs and leans his head back against Batman’s shoulder, closing his eyes and enjoying the pressure.

Lips meet his, and he opens up for the Bat. The kiss is rough, the fingers sliding in and out of his ass gentler, both feel amazing. He’s held still, unable to do anything more than accept what he’s given. And the Bat gives him a lot. A third finger presses in and he pushes back against it, the tips rub against his prostate with every thrust, and his own cock is heavy and half hard between his legs. Batman presses one kiss so hard it’s practically a bite to his lips, and pulls back. “Think you’re ready?”

He is but he can’t ask for anything right now, he’s not about to beg again, even if he is close to it. “Of course I am. Make it rough this time,” he demands instead.

“You thought I was going to be gentle?” The fingers pump out of him a few more times, rougher now, before they are withdrawn. When Batman’s cock lines up against his entrance he pushes back to meet it. Batman fills him slowly, reaching around to stroke Edward’s cock. Edward feels the second’s pause where Batman is gathering himself like a spring, before he lets go, and starts to fuck him. It’s not an easy angle, Batman’s deep from the start and stays deep, too close to pull out far, more holding him on his cock than thrusting. The tugs on Edward’s cock run in time with the rough presses inside him. His cock is still sensitive from his orgasm, it’s trying hard, but not as hard as usual, but Batman seems determined to push him to a second orgasm anyway. He lets his head fall forward against the wall, and Batman pulls him closer, arm around his chest tightening.

Batman’s breath hits his cheek and Edward turns to kiss him, the kiss is short before Batman pulls away, barely able to keep their mouths together he’s fucking him so hard. Edward whimpers, unable to do much else. The Bat’s teeth nip at his neck, no kisses now, down the side of his throat, until they reach the base and bite hard. The pain sends Edward thrusting forward into the Bat’s fist, grip easing just in time to keep him rutting.

Batman’s thrusts stay deep, but the pace eases as he gives attention to the bite mark on Edward’s neck, sucking now in the same place.

Edward moans, then laughs as he realises the implications of the Bat biting him. “Are you marking me?”

Batman growls against his skin, making him thrust forward again. “Why wouldn’t I mark my property?”

“Who’s going to see it?”

“Me.” Batman lifts his head and resumes the faster pace from before. Edward is amazed how he can make him come even now. Later he’ll decide that he needs to work on his sexual fortitude, but for now he accepts it gratefully, calling Batman’s name as the Bat joins him.

Batman isn’t gentle, or tender like Bruce, but he’s strong enough to hold him when he can’t stand. He unlocks the cuffs, one arm around him. When he’s free Edward braces his arms against the wall, still breathing deep. Batman moves away, and Edward reaches a hand back and grabs his wrist. “Bats, you’re exactly the kind of… ah nevermind.” He lets go before the Bat can shake him off. He feels sated, for now.


	10. Chapter 10

“Another beautiful day deep under Gotham, and what a day it is. Or evening.” Edward glances up at the stone ceiling as if it hides a clue. “Maybe I should say what a day it’s been, but then, how would I know? Bruce, why don’t you tell me what a day it’s been?”

“Nothing’s happened.”

“Nothing’s happened. In the last twelve hours over the whole of this globe not one single thing has happened. No death, no accidents, no little babies born, no crime, no awards won, no new causes of or cures for cancer found. Surely that’s newsworthy in itself? I expect once people begin to notice this complete void of events, this worldwide inertia, the press will be going wild. What headline did the Daily Planet go with?”

Bruce shrugs, in between spooning oatmeal into his mouth like it might have a really good escape plan he hasn’t bothered to figure out.

“Eventually people will just have to make up their own news. I expect they’ll want to interview you. Or, no, a blanket of nothingness covering the entire world, to me that sounds like perhaps nothing on earth can change. People will have to look to TV and film for their current events. So, in the end, nothing changes. Huh? Do they want to interview you?”

“Who? Sit down, Edward.”

He doesn’t. He can’t stop moving today, maybe because Bruce is so still. “The press. Or anyone. Though I can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to ask you a question.”

“I don’t do interviews anymore.”

“Obviously. You know, I do remember one of your interviews. It was – it must have been just before you disappeared, or as you put it, left to go travelling without letting anyone know. I believe the article was published on your seventeenth birthday. You had never given an interview before, so it was a big deal, considering you had done absolutely nothing with your life besides being born wealthy, and well, you know. I remember one of the few interesting things you had to say was that your favourite book was the Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. I read most of the classics as child, but I skipped that one. I had read the Three Musketeers and reasoned it would be more of the same. But you made quite the case for it. So, I read it, for you. Thought I might get an insight into your mind. Was it really your favourite or was it just an easy pick? I mean, did you even read it?”

“What did you think of it?” He has Bruce’s attention now, even if he’s not looking his way. Who doesn’t like to talk about themselves? Well, usually Bruce Wayne.

Edward joins Bruce at the table, folding his blanket closer around himself as he sits. “It was…. entertaining. I found the central theme of the futility of revenge trite, but the prose as a whole kept my attention. I enjoyed the level of detail. And I suppose the imprisonment scenes were well done.”

“You’d know.”

“Oh, Bruce you are funny. But was it really your favourite?”

“Yes.” At last Bruce puts his spoon down and looks at him. “It probably still is.”

“What did you enjoy about it. False identities? Murder? Revenge? The possibility of transformation, so long as you come into a large sum of money?”

Edward can see Bruce considering, thinking back through the mists of time. “I did like the idea you can recreate yourself as a completely different person, leave your past self behind and be whoever you want to be.”

“But Dantes doesn’t leave the past behind. Everything he does is tied to his past.”

“Well, maybe that’s the point. Dantes is trying to hold onto his past and the people he’s lost through his revenge. His anger drives him to build a new life and become an agent of providence, as he says. But while he’s seeking his revenge, he changes. And when he gets it, it doesn’t satisfy him. He’s only causing more pain in the world. To new, innocent people like his enemies’ children. The world has changed and so has he. You become a new person and you can’t go back. I think I found that uplifting when I read it.”

That’s a little more than he expected. Bruce looks very earnest, and part of Edward really wants to break the eye contact he’s been seeking, but he won’t. “Sounds like it really meant a lot to you.”

Bruce solves his problem, looking anywhere but at him. “Just because it’s not the most original idea doesn’t mean it’s not true. I was young when I read it.”

“I’m not judging you, Bruce.” He’s surprised he’s said it, because really, he is. But primarily he’s information gathering, so it’s ok, isn’t it? After all, Bruce is his enemy, he’s allowed to fudge the truth with him a little, especially if it’ll stop him being all silent and morose. “So, you’re saying the theme of the novel is that he should have put his past behind him and gotton on with his life sooner?”

“But that wouldn’t be a very interesting story. And back then I appreciated his quest for justice. The idea of it.”

“Maybe he just didn’t plan his revenge very well.”

“People get in the way. Things are always more complicated than you see.”

“People will go a long way to screw you over. Maybe that’s the theme.”

“Take the first jailor for example–”

“Antoine.”

Bruce looks at him strangely. “How long ago did you read this?”

“Eleven years. Why?”

“You have a good memory.”

“Why, thank you, Bruce,” he says, deliberately breathy.

“Well, you do.” Bruce seems to have lost his previous track. Maybe it’s the way Edward’s looking at him. Good. Remembering a name is no big deal. He doesn’t have to be so patronising.

“Obviously. You like me being accommodating, don’t you, Bruce?” The conversation is getting too nice, and the itch in him makes him want to needle. He can’t forget Bruce is the one keeping him here. He can’t let him forget either.

Bruce sighs, and is quiet. Edward waits.

“Do you have a favourite novel?”

“I couldn’t name one. Certainly, there have been novels where I’ve gleaned useful scraps of information, but fiction doesn’t affect me emotionally the way it does the majority of people. I only read non-fiction these days.”

“You don’t read for fun?”

“I have better things to do with my time.”

“It’s the closest you can get to being inside another person’s head. I would have thought you’d find that interesting.”

Edward sighs. “It’s just a story, Bruce. I can’t imagine anyone cares that much.”

“Well, it’s not like I have the time to read often, either.”

“You have time to sit around here doing nothing. And unlike me it’s by choice.” He shrugs. “Huh, so maybe I do have the time to read right now.”

“Would you prefer it if I left you alone?”

“Typical Bruce, disagree with you and out come the threats.”

“When do I ever threaten you? Asking if you want to be alone isn’t a threat.” He might sound self-righteous, but Edward can tell he’s got him on the back foot. Bruce might be running low on guilt these days, but there are still a few drops left in him, and they’re flowing today.

“Oh, I think it is, in these circumstances. But you’d prefer not to think about that, so you can pretend we’re just having a nice chat. No, you hardly ever threaten me outright, you’re too good for that, aren’t you?”

“You know why you’re here and so do I. I’m aware of what you are. Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.”

“Sulking? On this day?”

Bruce ignores him, so Edward gives up on him for the moment, and concentrates on eating his meal, slowly. Bruce finishes first, and sits waiting for him, as though he has somewhere else to be. But he’s here too early to go out, he’s been arriving earlier and earlier over the last week. Edward sees the exact moment he loses his attention, when Bruce goes from impatiently staring into space waiting for him, to actually staring into space, thoughts a million miles away for all he can read them. “Thinking about tonight?” he asks.

“Are you almost finished?” Bruce comes back to earth smoothly.

“Why?”

“I need to work on the Tumbler.”

“And what am I supposed to do while you do that? Go back to the cage?”

“You can use the gym if you want. Get some exercise.”

Is Bruce spoiling for a fight? He’s seen the Bat’s home gym, from a distance, located in a cave off to the side of the main cavern. It’s an obstacle course to challenge the Bat, full of massive weights. If he can actually lift one maybe he can heft it over the edge onto Bruce’s head.

Bruce is stacking their plates, ready for him to take up with him when he’s done here.

Edward stays still, copying Bruce’s thinker pose, while Bruce heads over to the storage cabinets by the computer. Bruce returns, toolbox in hand, and eyes Edward warily as he stands, but doesn’t stop him falling in step next to him on the walk to the cars.

He waits until Bruce is kneeling by the tire, tools out, before he says, “So, something’s bothering you today.”

“Something is.”

“Hmm… let me guess, Geoff Rogers?”

Bruce looks up at him now. “What do you know?”

Edward smiles and leans back against the car’s hood. “Well, what could cause you to be even more reticent and brooding than usual today of all days? Some enemy? But you’ve been chasing the same one for a week, and as aggravating as him eluding you must be, it hasn’t made you snappy like this. So, what could it be, only days after your big secret was revealed?”

He pauses for drama, and Bruce takes the opportunity to jump in. “Edward, what have you done?”

“Relax Bruce, I have no idea what goes on outside this room. I’m merely making an educated guess, and I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. Otherwise why would it bother you? As you said, who cares about most of these media pundits – all replaceable, and what can they do to you, Gotham’s prince? But Rogers, people listen to him, the kind of wealthy do-gooders who own stocks in Wayne Enterprises and admire Rogers for his long-serving, straight-talking business acumen. If he thinks a Bat can’t run a business, who are they to disagree? Can one man cause stocks to tank? Guess you’re finding out. And he was your father’s friend, wasn’t he? Must hurt.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Matter? Because there’s nothing you can do about it? But what if there were? What if you could repair the damage? Or at least, stop people talking about it.” He runs a finger over the shiny metal.

Bruce stands, finally, wiping his hands off on a cloth, even though he’s barely touched anything yet. “You want to tell me, so get to the point.”

“Everyone has secrets. Maybe Rogers should be more focused on protecting his own.”

“And you’re going to tell me his secrets.” It’s not a request, but as much as Bruce is trying, and even succeeding, in looking intimidating, looming over him like that, Edward can’t think of a single way he could make him tell.

He smiles up at him. “In return for a favour.”

Bruce regards him for a moment. “Fine. A favour worth the information you give me.”

“Oh Bruce, you know it’s going to be good.”

Bruce is waiting, he’s made his decision, so he tells him. It’s nothing terrible, a bit of insider trading, years ago. But he has dates and names. And when you’ve built a career exposing other’s dodgy business practice, it’s the explosive at the bottom of the Jenga tower. He doesn’t have to wonder if Bruce will use the information. In the past he might not have, but this new Bruce is tougher than that.

“What do you want?” Bruce asks.

Edward couldn’t stop smiling if he wanted to. He stands, effectively landing in Bruce’s arms he’s that close, and links his arms around his shoulders. Bruce doesn’t stop him, and how he loves that suspicious glare on his face. “How about some books?”

“Books? You could have just asked. I would have brought you books.”

“I know.” He’s not going to kiss Bruce if Bruce isn’t going to kiss him first, and since he obviously isn’t, he disentangles himself. “You can bring them to me before you go out tonight. I expect you want to go upstairs now, make a few calls.” He heads towards the stairs and hears Bruce follow.

The happiness doesn’t last long, halfway to the cage he realises he felt better before the plan worked, because at least he had a plan back then.


	11. Chapter 11

Bruce does bring him a decent selection of books. Only ten, and he didn’t ask him what he wanted, but that’s alright for now. Edward would rather know what Bruce would pick for him anyway, and the books are diverse enough to suggest he didn’t just grab the first few he saw.

He whiles away the hours reading. It’s good to think about something other than Bruce and Batman, even though his mind keeps returning there every now and then. He is still mostly absorbed when he hears the Batmobile pull into the cave. Time disappears when you’re having fun, but he’s pretty sure Batman is back early.

Batman disembarks, slamming the door behind him. Normally now Edward would sit back down and pretend complacency, whether the Bat comes to him or not, he never wants to appear too eager, the Bat gets enough of that once they really get going. But today the set of Batman’s shoulders and his fast pace up the stairs keep Edward watching as he ascends through the cavern. The Bat’s glaring at him and Edward has to steel himself not to take a step back as he approaches. He reminds himself that Batman has no specific reason to be angry at him, not right now, and hates his mind for even thinking it. He isn’t just here for sex, he’s here for the Bat’s use and if the Bat wants to release tension by hurting him, then that’s what he’s here for. And he should be strong enough to deal with that. But the suspense jogs memories he’s tried to forget. When did he stop expecting to be hit?

He focuses on the Bat instead, on the same level as him now. Batman looms as large as ever, but Edward has the strange feeling he’s become smaller, he has lost something huge and important, and been reduced to only moving parts of himself. Edward knows the feeling. It’s single-minded, that drive, the voracious hunger in his gaze.

Maybe Batman’s failed tonight, maybe he’s won. His gloved knuckles are red, Edward sees as he crosses in front of the cage to open it, but there are no spatters on the rest of his suit.

After he has achieved his goals, and he will, what will he do? That intensity loose will be dangerous. The Bat is terminal, a fire at its peak, and even in Gotham there is only so much wood to burn.

All that drive and purpose needs a focus. The cage is opening.

“I can eat all I want, but give me drink and I die.”

Batman doesn’t answer of course, doesn’t appear to have heard him. Edward steps back when the Bat reaches for him, and grins as he moves away, to show he’s not scared. Will Batman take the risk of stepping under the lip of the cage to retrieve him? Call it an experiment. It would be sensible to give in and go along with his demands, but Batman looks raw enough to show him something real tonight. And he’s sure the Bat needs something other than nice and easy right now. Though why he’d give him what he needs is a more complex matter.

Turns out Batman will be reckless tonight to get what he wants. Edward’s grabbed, pulled hard against the Bat’s chest. He smells fresh sweat, the kind that reminds him of night terrors, sweet and chemical, the scent of death. The grip on his shoulder is going to leave bruises. They’re both in the cage, and if he wanted, if he had planned for this, he could – what? Get himself killed in a cage by Batman? None of this is planned, he’s hit a place where planning ends, and you have to rely on instinct, and it’s exhilarating.

He’s shoved out of the cage onto the platform, just barely managing to keep his footing and stay upright. Batman is on him before he can regain his balance, forcing his arm up behind his back tight enough to make him bite back a small whine.

Batman directs him towards the stairs. It’s never easy to walk while being pushed forward like this, and the Bat sets a fast pace. Once they reach the stairs it gets downright risky. “Wait!” Edward pushes back. Batman grabs him around the waist, apparently out of patience. For a second, Edward thinks he’s going to carry him, then the ground disappears beneath him and he’s flying through the air, trying to grab onto the Bat before he hits the cave floor with a bump. It’s not the first time he’s travelled with Batman this way, but he’ll never get used to it.

The impact with the ground knocks him off his feet and out of the Bat’s arms. He stumbles to his feet, turning to face Batman, whose mood seems unimproved by the flight. Batman removes a small bottle from his belt and tosses it to Edward. “Prepare yourself.” Then turns away from him, undoing his belt.

Edward stares at the Bat’s back. He can see that Batman is moving slowly, presumably giving himself time to calm down. He’s not sure what annoys him most, the unfairness that he’s done nothing to cause the Bat’s bad mood, or the dismissal of the Bat turning his back on him. Either way, Batman can’t expect to treat him like this unchallenged. Edward launches the bottle back at him. It hits well, the back of his cowl-covered head, with a really satisfying thud, and bounces off and rolls into the water.

Batman turns and stalks towards him. For the second time tonight, Edward forces a smile on his face as he backs up. For a moment he thinks the Bat is going to punch him, like old times, but instead Batman grabs his hair, spinning him around and slamming him face down onto the table behind him.

His cheek hits the tabletop with a crack, the Bat’s body crashing down over him hard enough to nearly knock the breath out of him. Batman grabs his hands, pinning them above his head, adjusting his grip as Edward struggles to break it. He’s trapped under the Bat, heavy body pressing over him to keep him in place, legs boxing in his own to stop him kicking back. Edward tries to buck him off, and when that doesn’t work to slide away, whether to attack or run he’s not sure, probably both. Batman just secures his wrists with one hand and reaches the other back to land on his ass, pulling him apart and exposing him. Edward hears the Bat spit, and feels the grip on his wrists tighten, and then the Bat’s cock is at his ass, pressing in quickly. He can only breathe through the stretch, fresh spit around the length only tamping down the burn.

He clenches his eyes and his mouth hard as his entire body tenses. The Bat doesn’t give him time to adjust. This is more like what he expected when he came here. Doesn’t make it any easier though. His only option to try to relax as Batman pounds into him.

And Batman goes hard, ramming into him over and over. Edward’s cock brushes against the table it’s pressed against with every frenzied thrust. The grip on his hands loosens, enough for him to slide one free. He tries to reach under himself, but Batman grabs his hand again. “No, you don’t. Just take it.”

He almost comes at that. Batman adjusts his position, pinning both Edward’s hands in one of his and backing up a little, using the other hand to grip his hair and pull, forcing him to arch his back and neck. Edward whimpers, but he doubts begging’s going to have any effect tonight. He wriggles his hips, trying to get in a better position.

Batman’s got stamina, but he’s not making any effort to hold out, slamming him into him like he’s in some private race. Edward is stuck between holding out and not giving Batman the satisfaction of knowing a part of him enjoys this, or coming and not giving him the satisfaction of denying him. His cock decides for him, pressed between his stomach and the table, on one particularly hard thrust.

Batman keeps fucking him. Edward thinks he hasn’t noticed, but then he lets go of his wrists, grabs his hips and thrusts into him even harder. Edward sucks in a breath and holds on. The Bat comes in thrusts, with a grunt like a wounded animal.

Edward whines as Batman pulls out. The afterglow is wearing off quickly, and there’s no other physical feeling to block out the soreness. He stays still and listens to Batman moving, presumably cleaning himself up. Something hits the table with a soft thump next to his head, and he opens his eyes to see a box of wet wipes. He stands slowly and cleans himself, bunching the wipes into a ball on the table. When he glances behind him Batman is sitting in the chair by the computer. He must have taken off his cowl at some point. His hair is messed up and his expression unreadable, he looks at his gloves as he pulls them off, setting one on the desk besides him. Edward takes more wet wipes and cleans the table, because it would be disgusting to leave it, and not because he has no idea what to say.

“So, what got you so riled up?” When he looks back at Bruce, he is surprised to find him half undressed, and still going. Is he seriously up for round two? The expression on his face doesn’t suggest it.

“Edward, get over here,” Bruce says, pulling off his Bat pants, not even looking at him.

Edward walks over, deliberately slow and hesitant. Bruce is walking too, leaving a pile of costume in the middle of the floor. He pulls out the bed as Edward follows him. Okay, round two. “I’m going to need lube this time.” He’s not going to be the one fishing in the cave pool for the bottle.

Bruce sighs and sits, still not looking at him. “Just come here and sit down.”

He sits carefully beside Bruce, who cups his chin in his hand, and finally looks at him, or more specifically, at his cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

It’s hot enough over the bone to know there’ll be a bruise, but it’s not what’s going to be hurting in the morning. “Well, it’s going to be difficult sitting for a few days.”

“Lie down, then.” Bruce wraps an arm around him and pulls him down onto the bed with him. This isn’t about sex, Bruce wants to cuddle, after that? Edward turns around so he’s not facing him, though Bruce is close at his back, spooning him. Bruce strokes a hand down his side. “You’re okay?” It sounds like more of a suggestion than a question.

“You know I’m not the Joker, don’t you?” It’s not that he can’t take it. But…

Bruce is quiet. He’s holding Edward so tight Edward can feel each rise and fall of his chest against his back. Despite himself Edward finds himself sinking into Bruce’s embrace. He makes an effort, things shouldn’t be easy right now. “So, let me guess, Harvey?” Seems like there’s been an ending. Harvey and Bruce had been friends before that business with the Joker last year. Did Bruce offer Dent the same deal as him or did he respect him too much?

“It’s over.” Bruce says after a moment.

“Probably for the best,” Edward says. Harvey was a mess. Bruce flinches behind him like he’s been stung.

Bruce rests his forehead on the back of his neck, breathes in, and shudders, the movement echoing through his body. Edward thinks he had better say something. “Have you always enjoyed hurting me?”

He hardly expects an answer, though Bruce is going to have to give one eventually, he’s not about to let up. But Bruce does speak, and he feels that too, a starting rumble against his back, breath ghosting over his ear. Bruce’s hand is flat against his stomach, and his thumb strokes the skin there, gently. “No. I’ve always wondered if you liked it though. The fight. Even if you always lose. But maybe that’s the point. So arrogant, so convinced of your own superiority – you’d think you’d be above getting fucked by a line of men in a grimy backroom, but obviously not.”

“Yeah right, you were surprised.” Edward has spent the last two years getting over conflicted feelings about his sexuality, mostly with more sex, no way Bruce Wayne is going to drag him back into feeling shame.

“Well, I was younger then. Did you ever pretend any of them were me?” Bruce kisses the back of his neck after he speaks, which is wholly inappropriate for this conversation. “You did, didn’t you?”

That fantasy had stayed in his head, some things you don’t admit to anyone. “And you call me arrogant. You’re the one who brought me here to use.” He turns to look back and Bruce tightens his grip on him, shushing him for some reason, though his voice hasn’t grown that much louder. “Were you ever close to just pinning me down and having me when you didn’t kill? Or any of us. How about the Joker?” Edward’s aware he keeps returning to the Joker tonight. But tonight’s the first time he felt Batman needed someone or something else. Something he might not be able, or might not want, to give.

“No, never.”

“So, you never wanted me before? I don’t believe you. You said you thought I was cute.” He doesn’t like the way his voice sounds, right as he is.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you. I said I didn’t enjoy hurting you, that’s all. And I was never close to fucking you, before. Not while I was fighting you. Even if I wanted to. I have some self-control.”

He’s about to ask what changed, but Bruce talks over him. “I’ll be more careful with you in the future.”

It’s not an apology, but he sounds sincere enough for Edward to think he could almost believe him, if this were real, if they were an actual couple who could cuddle after sex without it being a huge weird mess. But Bruce likes to ruin things, so he adds, “Sometimes I forget how delicate you are.” And Edward remembers that he does actually hate him.


	12. Chapter 12

“No! I had it.” He was so sure he did, a novel solution to the three cups puzzle, but now when he tries to visualise the answer it slips away.

His outburst makes Bruce look up, for a second. Edward knows he needs to be careful about talking to himself. It’s been happening too often lately. But what else can he do? The only other person he can talk to is Bruce, and he doesn’t understand how conversation works.

“When I am metal or wood, I bring you home. When I am flesh and blood, in the darkness I roam. What am I? Come on, even you can figure this one out,” Edward asks him anyway.

“Nope, no idea.”

“You’re not playing fair, Bruce.”

“You need to relax, Eddie.”

“Like you? What have you got there?” He leans across the table to get a better look at the book in Bruce’s hands. “Hey! That’s mine.”

“Technically, it’s not.”

“Oh, you brought it to me, so you think you can just take it without asking?”

“Okay.” Bruce closes the book and slides it over to him. “Here you go. You read it.”

He doesn’t take it. “I’ve finished it. Twice. I’ve finished all of them.”

At least he has Bruce’s attention now. Even if he’s just sitting there, stony faced, like he’s facing down a particularly onerous chore. “So, you want me to entertain you?” Bruce asks.

“Why don’t you entertain me with tales of what’s going on outside this cave? Have you managed to kill everyone in Gotham who’s ever jaywalked or is that noble mission still ongoing? Have you started on the mob yet? Bet they won’t go down as easy as a bunch of costumed lunatics.”

“I’ve told you, I won’t discuss these things with you at the moment,” Bruce explains, oh so faux patiently. “What I do outside this cave isn’t something you need to worry about. The sooner you accept that the easier this will be for you.”

“So, I should just accept your control? Problem is, I don’t think you have it.”

“That’s a shame. Should I show you?”

“Yeah, entertain me.” Edward has to admit, Bruce is looking good today – which is lucky for him, since he has so little else to offer in terms of company. His eyes, his ass, his arms, those thighs. He’s a pleasant distraction to look at. And touch. And today Edward really needs a distraction.

Putting the blanket aside, Edward steps around the table. Bruce pulls him onto the bench next to him and kisses him, resting a hand on his neck, fingers trailing over the fading bite mark. But his touch is gentle, as are his kisses, and it’s not enough. When Edward lifts his hands to run through Bruce’s hair, to grasp the back of his head and pull him in for a deeper kiss, Bruce holds him in place and pulls back. “Slow down.”

Edward’s more frustrated by that than he should be, and not even sure which of them is being difficult. “I don’t want to.”

Bruce is looking at Edward like he’s pretty sure it’s him. “What’s up with you today?”

“When I said I wanted you to entertain me I meant I wanted sex. Not a high school style make out. Didn’t you understand that?”

“Fine, do what you want.” Bruce drops his hands to the bench and looks away like this is nothing to do with him anymore. Like all of this isn’t his fault.

Still, Edward isn’t going to give up a chance to take control. He trails kisses down Bruce’s neck, over his white t-shirt, and moves down his body and onto his knees in front of him.

“What a surprise.”

He glares up at Bruce. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to stop?”

“What do you think?”

Edward’s not about to make the first move, not now. He looks up at Bruce for a long second, before Bruce sighs, pulls down his zipper, and reaches for his head, fingers tangling lightly in his hair to pull him closer.

It’s the first time Bruce’s cock hasn’t been at least half hard. That doesn’t last long. Edward licks the tip and feels it grow in his hand. Well, at least he can still do something right.

Bruce tugs at Edward’s hair, pulling him forward onto his cock, and for once it’s not what Edward wants. He puts a hand over Bruce’s bigger one, tangling their fingers together to pull it away. Bruce lets go of his hair easily enough, but then refuses to remove his hand from his. Edward decides to concentrate on the cock in his mouth, and lets their joined hands rest on Bruce’s thigh.

He stiffens when Bruce raises his other hand to his hair, but Bruce only strokes through it, ending with his hand cupping Edward’s cheek gently. So Edward keeps going, but stays cautious. He’s on edge enough to very nearly stop and walk away. He keeps feeling like he needs to catch his breath, but at the last second decides to hold on a little longer.

“You look so good like this.” Bruce strokes a thumb along his ear. Edward looks up and Bruce is watching him like he’s something breath-taking. Bruce’s hand is still on his, gripping hard. It’s not a good sign that the touch feels reassuring, rather than like the trap it surely is. He was planning on making Bruce come quickly, to show he could, but he’s starting to think that maybe taking his time won’t be so bad.

Through slow-building licks and sucks, he hears Bruce’s breath quicken and hitch. Bruce’s hand moves to his hair again, pushing his head back to make eye contact. “Touch yourself, I want to feel you come with my cock in your mouth.”

How can he say no to that? He’s close to breathless as he presses his mouth forward against Bruce’s pelvic bone, tip of Bruce’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He needs it to be too much. It’s close to painful as he pulls hard on his own cock and comes on the floor between his shaking legs. Bruce has closed his eyes at some point, holding back, determined to last. But when Edward comes Bruce must feel it, because right after those last hard pulls Bruce's cock jumps and his release fills Edward’s mouth.

While Bruce stands to cleans himself up, Edward sits on the bench, throws a pile of tissues onto the puddle on the floor, and watches the mess like it might do something. When Bruce sits next to him, grabs him around the waist and pulls him into a kiss Edward smiles into it – he does love sharing his taste with him. But the kiss is sweet, and afterwards he finds himself curling against Bruce embarrassingly.

“Ok, tell me what’s wrong,” Bruce orders, arms around him.

“Hmm, what could possibly be wrong in this situation? What do you expect? Me to be perfectly happy all the time as your whore?” He spits the words out, turning away. He’s already said too much, but he needs to speak, desperately, to share something of himself, to remind himself, Bruce, the world, that he exists. “I feel…” Like time has slowed to a crawl. When he’s alone the solidity and silence of the cave walls make him feel buried, while the clear walls of the cage leave him feeling exposed. Simple puzzles flash in and out of his mind unravelled. Things are getting bad. It shames him to be so weak, but he’s had to learn some self-awareness the last few years to stay alive. He can’t tell Bruce any of that, of course.

“Come on, you’re not my whore, more of a pet.” That gets him wriggling away from Bruce, but almost half-heartedly. Of course Bruce would just make fun of him. What did he expect? “You need to deal with it. This is what you agreed to,” Bruce tells him. Now Edward tries to pull away in earnest, and Bruce grips tighter, stopping him. “I know it’s not ideal here. But it won’t be like this forever. I want to take you upstairs, just prove to me you can behave.”

He goes very still and stares at Bruce, not sure if this is a bad joke. “What?”

“You didn’t think I was planning on keeping you down here forever did you?”

Edward supposes it makes sense that Bruce can’t keep him here forever. No, no it doesn’t. He definitely expected Bruce to try to keep him here forever. He strives to control his surprise. “Are you serious? Why?”

“Because that’s where I want you.”

“It is?” He’s so blindsided he can’t seem to stop saying stupid things.

“Of course I want you at my side. Why wouldn’t I? You’re brilliant, handsome, charming. You’re perfect for me.” The flattery is making him feel floaty, in a way he doesn’t trust at all. Along with the revelation that Bruce wants him, as well, more than this.

“You mean it?”

“I mean it. And I know you’re smart enough to be pleasant when you have to. Just be good for me and I’ll take care of you.”

He can’t think of anything good to say. Bruce is looking at him carefully. “Okay?”

“Of course, I just can’t believe you’d do something so foolish.” He can think of a million reasons it’s a stupid idea. He thinks he’d like to hear more of Bruce’s reasons.

Bruce sighs again and loosens his grip a little. “Right. For now, I can bring you more books. Any requests?”

“I don’t know what’s available. How about an inventory of the Wayne library?” He does well to answer so quickly.

“I’ll bring you last years’.”

“And I want to write. I want pens and paper.” He doesn’t really need to write, he has a perfect visual memory, and can picture anything he wants to record. But it’ll be nice to get a few things out of his head.

“Fine.” Bruce places a small kiss to his temple and stands up. He passes him his blanket and Edward wraps it tight around himself. He watches Bruce gather things together at the table, getting ready to disappear upstairs.

He should be happy, and none of this should bother him. He is working to take down Batman and now he is closer than ever. After he succeeds, he can do whatever he wants – he can own Gotham again unopposed. But he keeps thinking, what does he want with Gotham? What’s he even going to do with it?

His plans need adjusting for a change of setting. But it’s not his plan now that has him wondering – it’s what comes after. He supposes for all the detail in his plots he’s always been bad at endings.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to think about that now. Finding out what happened to the Bat takes priority over everything else. He knows he’s going to think about both anyway.

His hands are moving, and he takes a napkin and folds it, a simple puzzle.

Bruce is calling him, ready to go, he’ll wait outside the bathroom for him before he puts him back. Edward pulls the blanket tighter around himself with a shiver. For a second, he desperately wants a touch from Bruce, or to hurt him, something simple, either would do. But it passes as such moments do.

From the cage later he’ll watch as Bruce picks up the meal tray to take upstairs, tossing his puzzle onto it with the rest of the trash.


	13. Chapter 13

It was only a test. He came back to himself, blinking as the lights flooded on, and at that point he hadn’t even called out yet. He had enough time, standing there covered in his own dream sweat, to know what he was doing. He knew calling wouldn’t bring any real help, either from either actual or imagined threats. But what a perfect time for a test. All that plausible deniability.

He’s breathing heavily as he sits. The dream is already slipping away. In those first few seconds he had forced his mind away from it. But since what sleep brought wasn’t the usual mundane fears from long ago, now he tries to catch the thread again. Arkham, solitary, and squeaky wheels on a tiled floor. He can’t remember much of his time in solitary, which is an unusual and uncomfortable feeling in its own right. He can’t remember the time he escaped – an effect of the Benzos they forced into him after, because he’s seen the documentation, he believes it happened. He remembers waking up afterwards, body one long bruise, mind drifting through bright white space, stuck with nothing but himself for another eternity.

He wishes he hadn’t called out. He hopes Bruce won’t come.

So of course Bruce does.

Maybe he should lie down and pretend to be asleep. But his brain doesn’t seem to be working too well right now, and he doesn’t make the choice in time. Bruce steps into the cave and approaches. He must have been asleep; he’s wearing a robe over pyjamas, and slippers. Edward wouldn’t have expected slippers.

He sits and waits.

“What’s up,” Bruce asks, a phrase that could send him crashing down to earth if anything could.

“May I – will you let me out?” he asks.

He stands again, letting the blanket fall away, and cracks his knuckles, because he really needs something to occupy his body, as Bruce opens the cage.

Bruce stands and waits for him. He isn’t saying anything, or moving much, which is worrying. Edward presses close, arms around his neck. Bruce holds him back, not seeming too enthusiastic, but Edward knows he can get rid of that doubt. “Hey…” His voice comes out huskier than he planned so he gives up on speaking and goes for a kiss, which Bruce pulls away from too quickly. He tries again, clearing his throat. “I need you, Bruce.” That didn’t come out the way it sounded in his head. Bruce wraps his arms around him tighter and Edward buries his head into his chest. Bruce is warm and solid and soft and smells all clean. As ridiculous as it is Edward has to admit he doesn’t want him to go. “Say something,” he mumbles into his chest.

“It’s okay.” Bruce strokes one hand up and down his back, slowly. “What happened?”

“Just wanted to see you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s okay.”

Bruce just stands there, holding him. “I wanted…” But he trails off. Bruce pulls away and he’s not surprised. He doesn’t get any impression Bruce wants sex, and he’s busy, must be tired. And now Edward knows more about the surveillance this game is over. He shivers, it’s cold tonight, he can’t stop.

Bruce takes off his robe and wraps it around him. “Come upstairs with me.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. The robe is soft, and Edward pulls the fabric tighter around him. He can tell the offer’s a spontaneous thing. He doesn’t know if Bruce means just for tonight or permanently. Maybe Bruce doesn’t know either. Either way it strikes him as disrespectful that Bruce will let him in so easily, and if only for tonight that’s almost worse, like he can take him out and put him back whenever he wants. “No.” Is the only answer he can give.

“Well, let’s sit down then.” Bruce keeps an arm around him, leading him downstairs. Any other time he’d shake him off, but tonight even this false gentleness is… well it’s better than being alone.

Halfway down the stairs Bruce says, “I’ve got a better idea. You want to get out of here?”

Edward just looks at him, confused, but Bruce leads him towards the cars.

Bruce opens the door for him on one Edward hasn’t seen him take out yet. It’s incognito, if you can call a black Maserati that. Not so unusual for a billionaire playboy, including the tinted windows, but Edward would bet the car has other less obvious alterations. He sits in the comfortable passenger seat, the kind you sink low into. Bruce gets in and starts the engine, and the heated seats too.

“Where are we going?” He manages to control his voice this time, at least.

“For a drive. If that’s okay with you?”

Edward nods. His first thought is that he can pinpoint the entrance now. His second is that he will see how Gotham’s changed without him.

His third is more unwilling, that it’s genuinely and unusually kind of Bruce to do this for him. He doesn’t want his pity, but Batman has never had this much pity, not for him at least. So, what is this? Is it so impossible to believe that Bruce might have developed feelings for him? The idea gives him a warm triumphant feeling in his chest, and victory butterflies in his stomach.

They emerge from the cave into blinding drizzle. The world is bright, he knew it was morning, but he hadn’t expected this much sunlight. The car travels along a dirt track, passing between lines of trees, leaves heavy with raindrops, and exits onto a clear road with a roar of the engine.

Wayne Manor sits alone, surrounded by its own land. The large houses they pass as Bruce drives through the hills, between fields and patches of woodland, are still and empty. It’s a rainy weekday morning and the road is empty of cars as they head east, away from the city.

Neither of them speak. Eventually the hedges and fields level out into dunes and the car speeds along the coast. The sun glances orange through clouds, illuminating shudders of raindrops that smash against the window every now and then, like they’re trying, and failing, to catch up with them.

Edward watches idly out the window. Watches the grey sands, empty except for a sole dog walker or two. It’s been so long since he was last here, not since his first years in the city. He can smell the sea, heavy and salty in the rain.

Cries of seagulls rise above the steady crash of the waves. He curls into his seat, pulls the robe, smelling of Bruce, around him, and there’s Bruce, sitting silent but solid next to him, and the landscape changing and staying the same outside the window.

He feels the change in direction, he might be dozing, comfortably, in a warm shell, but he is awake when the car slows and rolls into the Batcave.

“We’re back.” Bruce says shortly, parking up. Edward stretches out in his seat, going almost horizontal as Bruce gets out.

Bruce comes round and opens the door for him. He looks at Edward like if he sat a moment longer he’d pick him up, but as calm as Edward feels he is wide awake, and he stands, almost in Bruce’s arms.

“Okay?” Bruce asks, with a smile Edward can’t bring himself to hate.

“I’m tired,” he answers, “It’s noon. Go to bed, Bruce.”

Edward follows Bruce up the stairs, pulling the robe around himself. He’s not giving it up unless Bruce asks for it back. He’s pretty sure Bruce won’t.

Halfway up the stairs it hits him, he didn’t get the entrance either time, did he?


	14. Chapter 14

Edward is cleaning the stone floor, edge of the cage hanging directly over his head. He’d be more cautious if he hadn’t calculated the chance of it falling as being infinitesimally low when he checked the mechanism this morning, after he told Bruce the floor was disgusting and needed to be washed. Bruce had watched him examine it, but from a distance. He doesn’t stop him doing much these days.

That’s good, isn’t it? He can leave whenever he wants, can take a trip out of the cage tonight while the Bat’s out and have a look around the manor if he likes. He doesn’t even have to do it naked now he has Bruce’s robe. What will he find? He doubts Bruce will have neatly written journal entries describing exactly what occurred. Those details are locked inside Bruce. If he can’t outwit Batman, especially in his new unsteady state, maybe he deserves this. He’s getting closer to Bruce, but he’s still no closer to finding out what happened to him. He could search for what information he can find and then take off, to hunt down Selina and others to question. But he’s not finished here yet. And Bruce might be softer to him now, but he has no doubt that he would be marked for death the moment he left. He’s in no particular rush to end this game.

Here’s Bruce now, ascending the stairs and heading across the walkway towards him. Edward stands, blows out a breath. “Your cave is dusty.”

“You don’t need to clean. I haven’t ordered you to.” Bruce actually looks concerned, which strikes Edward as funny. With all that Bruce will make him do, actual work is where he draws the line.

“It’s disgusting.” Edward gestures down towards the lowest level, the most used, which is truly grimy. “Wet wipes can’t fix everything, you know.”

“If it bothers you, go ahead and clean it. It’s your choice.” Bruce shrugs, like it’s just another entry on the long list of things he doesn’t care much about. “I would have thought you’d be above all this.”

“What? Hygiene?” Edward’s always done his own cleaning when possible. It’s not something you can trust just anyone with. “I have high standards. Unlike you, apparently. Someone needs to keep this place clean. Rather it be you, but obviously that’s not about to happen.”

“Don’t wear yourself out.”

He likes the quick look Bruce shoots at him as he walks off. He likes that Bruce leaves him to do his own thing. He likes the fact he’s not going far; as soon as he steps out of line, Bruce will be right back to stop him.

He supposes he enjoys the novelty of finally having Bruce’s attention. And Bruce is a good lay. When he makes an effort, conversation with him can be stimulating. But that’s all. It only makes sense to focus on the best of the situation. Edward sighs, scrubbing hard at the floor. When all this is over maybe he will reverse their positions, or maybe he will let Bruce go, and just keep fucking him. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate win, to defeat Batman, bring him low, and have him still want him enough that he can free him and Bruce will come back? He could do it, he’s incredibly good at arranging things to his will. A fitting challenge.

…

He’s satisfied, looking around at the seating area, all shiny and lemon smelling, and tucks the robe tighter around himself before starting to peel an orange. “Aren’t you going out tonight?” It’s later than usual, but Bruce hasn’t missed a night since Edward arrived here.

“I will be, but not yet.”

Is that an invitation? Probably not, Bruce is usually more direct. Edward eats a segment. Even when cleaning he’s had half an eye on Bruce, and tonight he seems hesitant. At first Edward thought maybe he would invite him upstairs again, but he’s barely said a word to him. Is he avoiding something elsewhere? It’s not like Batman to hide away from a fight.

“What’s it like upstairs?” he asks. “Cleaner than this I hope.”

“Come and see.”

There it is. He gives the request the attention it deserves.

“You’ve done a good job here,” Bruce tells him.

He can’t find any hidden meaning in the statement. “I know.” He shouldn’t want to say thank you for such modest praise. It shouldn’t make him happy.

He places the pieces of peel together carefully, layered on top of each other, a spire to ascend to the magical world of upstairs, later.

…

Edward pushes back on Bruce’s cock, spearing himself, since Bruce proves reluctant to do it.

“How does that feel? Deep enough for you?” Bruce’s voice is breathless, though Edward can’t give him the benefit to believe that’s why he’s stopped thrusting.

He won’t answer. This isn’t the first time Bruce has done this tonight, brought him to the edge and then cut him off, coming so close himself before just stopping. Frustratingly, he seems to have limitless patience. Bruce wants him to beg, show him how much he wants him, well not this time. The first time Edward had assumed that Bruce stopping was just part of his typical desire to show dominance, and had gone along with it willingly enough in order to get what he wanted. The second time he had thought maybe Bruce was looking for reassurance, and probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been in pretty dire physical need at that point. But now he wonders if Bruce is trying to get him angry enough to stop, because it’s working.

“Bruce…” he growls. He thrusts back hard. He can show Bruce that he doesn’t need him, he can do this all by himself. Bruce’s fist is enveloping rather than holding his cock, far too light and also not moving, and Edward tries his best to thrust into that too.

In response Bruce holds him still, grip on his hip tight enough to hurt. Edward can’t even wriggle to get away. Okay, that’s it. He hits back at Bruce’s hand. “What do you even want?”

Bruce moves at last, grabbing Edward’s hands, pinning them behind his back with both of his. “What’s wrong? Is there something you want?”

He can push back now, a little, but it isn’t enough. He’s playing into Bruce’s hands whatever he does. The only way to win is to walk away, and he really doesn’t want to do that. He stills. “Bruce, don’t you want me?” He tries appealing to Bruce’s sympathy.

“I want to know what you want, Eddie.”

“What, did you forget already?” He takes a deep breath. “Bruce…” The word comes out as a whine, and he’s not sure what to ask for, he’s already asked for everything Bruce could give him.

“Poor thing. Getting frustrated? Should I be kind to you?”

“Please, fuck me, let me come,” he begs, unable to think about anything except that maybe this time Bruce will. He has to get tired sometime right?

Maybe he has. Bruce lets go of his wrists and grips his waist, flipping him so his back hits the mattress. Bruce is on top of him in a second, deep inside him, lips crushed against his. The pressure of Bruce practically leaning on his cock inside him feels incredible after so long, especially when Bruce reaches between them. Bruce thrusts and Edward wraps his legs around his back, drawing him in closer, and arches his back as Bruce pumps his cock. Bruce’s breath brushes his cheek. “Is this what you need, beautiful?”

He comes hard. Bruce kisses him through his orgasm, thrusts finally growing ragged and uncontrolled as he joins him.

After, Bruce lies still on top of him, catching his breath, and after a moment Edward pushes his unresisting body off of him, and reaches for the wet wipes. He cleans himself up, and since Bruce doesn’t show any sign of moving, eyes still closed, wipes him off too. “Asshole,” he tells him, which makes Bruce open his eyes and smile sleepily at him.

“I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?”

“In the end. You just love playing with me, don’t you?” He places the wipes inside another clean one, and carefully places them on the nearest desk space.

“I thought you liked games?” Bruce’s hand strokes down his side.

“I might put up with your arrogance while we’re intimate, to get what I want, but afterwards? I find it tiresome. It lowers my opinion of you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Edward can almost hear Bruce’s ‘I don’t give a shit’ shrug. “Come here.” Bruce grips his arm and pulls him closer, other arm curling around him, practically lifting him onto his chest. Edward isn’t about to help him, but he doesn’t resist either.

“This is all part of your deep-seated need for control, you know. I wonder what made you like this? Freud would argue that such urges begin in early childhood, but I bet little Bruce was indulged in every possible way.” He’s cuddled into the crook of Bruce’s shoulder, watching his chest rise and fall. He rests his hand on the warm skin and he can feel the movement too, tracing the muscles of his chest. Bruce strokes a hand gently through his hair and over his back. Edward closes his eyes. “So, what was it? Did they force you to share your toys in kindergarten? And now you have to take every opportunity to show everyone who’s in charge?”

“Maybe. But are you sure it’s me you’re talking about? Don’t you do the same thing, except with you it’s showing your superiority through intelligence?” Bruce lays his hand over his, pressing gently to flatten his palm against his chest. “You have such long fingers.”

“I know.” He tries to pull his hand away so he can explore but Bruce is already spreading his fingers out, the tips of his own tracing along each one. It doesn’t feel bad, just tickles, a little. “The difference is I am more intelligent.”

“Ah, can’t argue with that.” He’s not convinced Bruce is sincere, but the unexpected compliment is true, so he lets it go.

He angles his head up to meet Bruce’s eyes. The blue looks sharper under the harsh lights. “Don’t interrupt me. The difference is: Are you perfect? Does putting on a cape and cowl entitle you to decide everyone’s fate? I don’t argue that I have a moral right to bend others to my will, in fact I always leave others the means to outwit me, if they can.”

“And if they do outwit you, you certainly don’t complain about it forever.” Edward almost pulls away, but even if Bruce’s tone is far more light-hearted than Edward would like, he is listening, and Edward has a lot to say.

“See, you don’t have any defence. You want control, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t have it, you’d probably do better than most. But be honest about it, don’t frame it as a moral crusade. You enjoy going around beating people in dark alleyways for glory and kicks. You’ve called me sadistic before. Me! But when people get hurt solving my puzzles it’s just an unfortunate side effect.”

“One you don’t seem to mind too much.”

“You have to break a few eggs to be taken seriously. It’s never personal for me; I do it for the benefit of society.” He moves his head slightly and he can hear Bruce’s heartbeat now, slow and steady.

“Was setting up an electrified maze for me for the benefit of society?”

“Might have been if it killed you. It must be a shock for you that not everyone sees you as the great hero of Gotham. It must be hard for you to accept.”

Bruce finally leaves his hand alone, only to brush a tuft of hair back from his face and tuck it behind his ear. “You’ve got me there. I suppose I’ve always been jealous. If only I could have the impact on Gotham you’ve had. All the people you’ve inspired, all the ways you’ve changed this city–”

“But you have inspired plenty of people to dress up and take to the streets.” Edward tilts his chin up to see Bruce’s face.

“Did I inspire you? Stupid question, huh. Well, now I’m dealing with that.”

“By giving up everything you stood for?”

“If it works. Maybe you should try it. Ever consider dropping the riddles?”

Any other time… but Bruce’s arms feel almost pleasant around him, and while they may be disagreeing, they are talking. Maybe Bruce is ready to listen at last. And Edward’s been ready to talk for a long time. He hesitates, but he answers. “I did once.”

“When you left Gotham? What happened?” Bruce just sounds curious.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. I was working with some of the most powerful people in the country, and all I found were the same small-minded ignoramuses as in Gotham, just on a grander scale. They had nothing to offer me. Which was apt, since as soon as they found out I wasn’t the Riddler anymore, they had no interest in anything I had to offer them. They didn’t want my ideas, I was just a novelty, and if I wasn’t going to play, what fun was I?” He pauses. “Worst part is, those morons were right. I was no one without it.” He knew he was nothing before, but had thought he had become something more, and he could give it up and that something would stick.

“You weren’t no one. Maybe you didn’t like the person you became.” Bruce says. “But things change. Why not try again?”

“I don’t want to.” In the end, that’s what it always comes down to.

He expects Bruce to argue, but Bruce stays silent, stroking through his hair just deep enough to feel soothing. Edward rests his head against his chest, listens to and feels the steady thud of his heartbeat.

He’s almost asleep, not something he had planned on, when Bruce gently pushes him back onto the pillow, and sits up. “I need to get ready.”

Edward doesn’t make any move to go as Bruce climbs over him. He’s comfortable here as long as he can stay.

He watches Bruce suit up. Bruce tends to arrive in the suit now, saves trips back and forth from the cage. And then they fuck, so there’s a lot of taking clothing off and putting it on, on Bruce’s part at least. Now would be a good time to make a move, Bruce has really let his guard down. Edward thinks about going over to help, but he’s warm here, so he watches the show instead.

“I’m hoping to meet one of your old friends tonight,” Bruce says, before he slips on the cowl.

Why is he telling him this? “Scared?” Edward asks, sitting up, comfortable sleepy feelings disappearing rapidly. Has he found Jon, or has Jon emerged to confront him?

“He’s not my favourite.”

Edward moves to the edge of the bed and picks up the robe from where it ended up, discarded on the floor. Bruce’s delaying tactics make sense now. One point for the Scarecrow. What has Batman left to be scared of? “Do you think you’ll find him?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, obviously. They both already know. It wouldn’t have even come up if he wasn’t sure.

Batman puts the finishing touches to his costume. Edward has already memorised these last checks perfectly. He watches anyway.

When he’s finished, Batman looks over at him. “Ready?” Even he sounds gentler tonight. Maybe that will carry on into the fight with Jon.

“Crane is very unwell,” Edward says, walking over. “More so than me, more than most of your costumed villains. He genuinely has no idea what he’s doing half the time.” Half the time is an exaggeration, but it’s true that when Scarecrow comes out to play, Jonathan goes away.

“And he’s incredibly dangerous,” Batman says, like that’s all that matters. “He’s a killer.”

Edward considers himself good at recognising a losing battle and moving on. “If he received the right treatment” –No one will ever be able to treat Jon– “he could do great things for Gotham, and for the world.” Jon is already doing his own ‘great things’.

Batman climbs the stairs next to him. Edward’s not sure if what he sees in his face is evaluation, sympathy, or nothing at all, it’s hard to tell with the cowl. “I’ll give him the same choice I’ve given others – I’ll take him to Arkham if he surrenders.”

Edward hopes they never meet then. Or Jon wins? One of those.


	15. Chapter 15

Edward doesn’t attempt to sleep that night. He’s gotten in the habit of sleeping during the day anyway, and Bruce has brought him new books to read. He’s gotten used to standing up every twenty minutes to keep the lights on, too. Tonight, those twenty minutes seem to vary wildly, from hours between each to just a few minutes.

He finds himself pacing for the first time since he arrived here. Maybe he could have tried to bargain for Jon’s life, as much as he knows it wouldn’t have worked. He has given a lot, but he still has things to offer. Maybe he could have asked Bruce, as a favour. Bruce can be kind when it’s easy for him, and even if he hadn’t agreed maybe the idea would have burrowed into his brain, like these thoughts have caught themselves in Edward’s, and slowed him at the last minute. It’s too late to know now.

He tries to read, and between pages he adds up the most likely outcomes. Nothing at all, that’s surely the second most likely. That the Bat will have miscalculated or Jonathan won’t turn up. Unexpected things pop up in Gotham all the time. Or Jon might win, it’s possible - though very unlikely, that Batman won’t be coming back in the morning. Or maybe Jon will end up back in Arkham, perhaps the Bat will knock him out before he does too much damage, that’s also a possibility.

Or maybe Bruce will bring Jon here. Now that’s unlikely, as well as a terrible idea. But it’s fun to think about. Jon wouldn’t be impressed by his long game – he has never understood his complex feelings for the Bat. To him Batman is merely an obstacle. He would want only destruction. If Jon were here the Bat would be dead by now. But what would Batman want with Jon anyway?

Edward’s still thinking it over when the Batmobile returns. Batman gets out alone. For a second it looks like he’s going to head out of the cave, then he looks up and sees Edward, and strides towards him. Good, Edward needs to know now.

Batman approaches, and Edward’s stomach falls deeper into the earth. There’s no blood visible on the suit, but there’s something wrong in the too deliberate way Batman moves, the way the Bat’s gaze bores right through him. Edward stands and waits while the cage opens.

He needs to know, but he doesn’t ask. Batman grabs him, and though Edward might not see any blood on him he can smell it, heavy iron and copper. He can smell something else too, the thick and bitter smell of fear toxin, clinging to the Bat like a cloud. He feels it invading him, tendrils clutching around his heart, making it beat even faster. He can see it in the Bat’s expression, a wide-eyed wariness.

“Bruce?” he asks, as Batman pulls him against him, in case he’s not seeing him.

“Shh, you’re safe.” The kiss Batman pulls him into is uneven, swinging randomly between deep and shallow. Edward can’t bring himself to respond, but he can’t seem to pull away either. Batman’s right, he’s safe, while Jon has fought, he’s been here, safe. Stupid Jon.

He doesn’t want to be here, pressed against the Bat’s chest. He pushes him away. “What happened?”

“I won.” Batman’s grip on Edward’s shoulder keeps him close.

“Crane?” Edward forces himself to ask.

“Got him.” Batman says it like he’s won a great victory.

“So, he’s in Arkham?” He hears something strange and unexpected in his own voice. He sounds like an idiot. Does he really need this spelled out for him? Maybe he does.

Batman’s grip tightens, and he stares, and at least it is at him now. Edward sees fresh irritation on top of that undercurrent of anxiety. As much as Edward can’t always read him, right now he gets it completely. Batman thinks he’s being difficult. Considering what he could, maybe should, be doing, Edward feels he’s being the exact opposite of difficult. He starts to pull away, but stops when Batman’s grip on him doesn’t ease up at all. Where would he go anyway?

“What did you do?” he asks. It’s the right question to ask. He tries to school his expression into something neutral, and not picture how it might have gone down. “Did you even try to talk to him?”

“He was more stubborn than you,” Batman says, “I dealt with him.” When the Bat leans in to kiss him again, Edward pulls away.

But not far. Batman’s hold stops him, and he regards Edward for a second before shoving him, stumbling, away from the cage and across the walkway.

Edward comes to a stop against the railings, and grips onto the top rail, fingers pressing into the metal. He hears Batman move in behind him. The air is cold and still, the cave is silent. He keeps his gaze set dead ahead. He remembers the first time the Bat had him like this, over Gotham. He feels colder this time. He braces himself for the Bat’s touch.

But time drags on with no movement from Batman, though Edward feels him standing there, close behind him. Finally he feels a touch on his shoulder. As the Bat’s hand makes contact Edward twitches away, shrugging it off like a reflex. “Don’t.”

Batman drops his hand, and there’s another long pause before the grip returns, on Edward’s bicep this time, and he’s hauled around and pushed back towards the cage.

He stands and waits in the centre of the cage as the walls descend, and stays standing as the Bat leaves. When he’s alone he looks down at the robe he’s wearing, tears it off, and throws it across the small space, as far away as possible. Then he sits, still on the cold stone, until the lights go out.

He leans his head back against the plastic wall. He listens, tries to find something. The world doesn’t feel different and why should it? Jon was barely a part of it in all the ways that matter. But his world has changed. He’s surprised by how strongly he dislikes it.

He remembers meeting Jon, on the first night of his second stay in Arkham. He already knew of him, had already decided if he was going to bother spending time with anyone in here, this was the one. It made perfect sense, Jonathan was intelligent, tough, tall, certainly not involved with anyone else, in any sense. Jon didn’t appear to share the sentiment. Yet they were sharing a bed within the week. They fitted together in ways he thought he didn’t need to figure out anymore.

Jon was perceptive, dedicated, single-minded. If Edward were going to attend his funeral maybe he could mention those things in the eulogy. But somewhere along the way he has grown attached to Jon in ways that are nothing to do with the few good attributes he can list.

The loss of him hits like a gut-punch. He thinks of him lying in bed asleep. He thinks of him drinking coffee at the kitchen table, not ready to talk yet, rubbing his eyes awake. How he had smiled the few times Edward had almost managed to make him laugh. The way Jon listened and heard far more than what he had to say. He hadn’t realised until now how much he had to lose.

…

It’s taken him a long time to even attempt to lie down, even longer to get to sleep.

So, when the light comes on the next morning he is drowsing, but not deeply. He jumps up right away, ready for a new day.

Bruce enters, wearing a charcoal grey suit. So, he won’t be staying long. He has a tray of food, practically overflowing. Edward watches him carry it over to the table. He’s been here less than a month, yet this has become so routine. Lots of things have become too routine.

He keeps his head down as Bruce approaches. When Bruce’s footsteps grow close, he looks up, and the other man looks surprised. Guess he’s not looking too good. Bruce opens the cage and stares at him without saying a word, and it’s not until Edward is about to walk past him to the bathroom that he clears his throat.

“Edward,” he says. Edward stops and watches him, because he does at least want to hear this. “I want to apologise for last night.”

Is that it?

“I should have handled things better. I genuinely didn’t think that you and – well, that you cared, about anyone else, really. I know how that sounds. I shouldn’t have…” he trails off, like he hasn’t even bothered to spend two minutes considering what to say.

But fair enough, Edward had thought that too. Maybe Jon was the last person he could care about, the last bit of goodness in his heart squeezed out.

And wow, that is it. Bruce just stands there, waiting. Weak apology attempted. What’s next? He could ask what happened, make them both relive it, but what’s the point, he’ll find out soon enough.

Bruce steps forward, reaches out to him. Edward flinches back, just enough to make it look like he’s fighting to stop an instinctual movement. Bruce’s hand drops and the unsure expression on his face solidifies into something else. Pity. And guilt. He doesn’t want Batman’s pity, but it’s interesting to him that the Bat can still feel it. And he definitely wants that sweet, sweet Bruce Wayne guilt.

He meets Bruce’s eyes. “It was always going to end this way. How else could it?” He shrugs. It’s true, just as there are only two ways this thing between Bruce and him can end. Bruce has only reminded him of the truth between the two of them, and that’s something he can never apologise for. The pain he’s feeling is his own fault for letting himself get close enough to be hurt, but more literally it’s Bruce’s fault, so he will have revenge for Jon as he would have hoped Jon would do for him. His only option now is to destroy Bruce entirely, but really that’s all it’s ever been. Even if he was starting to fool himself for a while.

When he walks away, he keeps his shoulders down, and he walks slow. He wants to look meek, broken. He might have been gifted the one thing that can make Bruce believe it.


	16. Chapter 16

Over the next few days Bruce visits him at the same times, but doesn’t stay as long. Their conversations are brief and to the point. The second day Edward asks for details on Jon’s death. It doesn’t sound like a good death, though Bruce reassures him it was quick. Why that matters Edward doesn’t know. So he knows Jon wasn’t scared? Whether Jon suffered or not, he’s dead now. He’d rather know how Batman found him, and what Jon was up to those last months, but there are easier ways of getting that information.

Anyway, he has the details. He can cross-reference them. Find out how honest Bruce is being with him.

He waits twenty minutes after Batman leaves. That will give the Bat more than enough time to get into Gotham, which is as far as he ever goes.

After Thursday’s cleaning, the cage is now in the perfect position. All Edward needs is one of the pencils Bruce was kind enough to bring him – and he’s out. He stands in the cave, out in the open, and surveys it. Only for a second. The cage is alarmed, and he doesn’t have much time.

He goes straight to the computers, sits in the chair and pulls the robe around him. He’s changed his mind about abandoning it, after all, it has pockets. Plus, Bruce seems to like seeing him in his clothes, he is a simple man.

He’s watched Bruce log in enough times to get access first try. And that’s the easy part over. The hard part is deciding what to spend his short time looking at. Bruce has files on so many interesting people. Although which one to open first is an easy choice.

His own file is long and fascinating, even if it could be longer. He skims it, he’s going to have to make time to read this slowly, at his leisure. The last entry has details on the night Batman caught him, and now he can see how far the trap was set up in advance. Of course he knew the Bat was watching him, he just hadn’t realised it was that closely, or through that informant. He’s impressed. But while there are mentions of the people Edward contacted to look into Bruce, these later entries are sparse, mostly bare names and dates. Unlike the early diary-like entries, where you actually get a feel of Bruce as a person, and what he intended Batman to be. And this Riddler file hasn’t even been updated since the day Batman brought him here.

The Joker’s is longer. He doesn’t want to read all this, so he skips to the end. The last entry is just a list of incorrect possible locations. Nothing on the clown’s death at all. Edward sits back. Are these all the files? If he had more time, he could be sure. They probably are. The lack of documentation fits with the Bat he knows nowadays. He’s barely seen him use his system the last few weeks. Maybe he has something else upstairs, but Edward doubts Bruce is spending hours researching and collating information. Batman’s relying increasingly on action. His own mind and instincts over support systems and information gathering. It’s noticeable how the GCPD and Jim Gordon are barely mentioned in these last entries, while Edward’s almost going name blind from them earlier on. Batman’s mind and body are impressive, but not infallible. It’s always a mistake to not use all your resources. Bruce might accuse him of arrogance, but he’s going to accuse Batman of being a reckless idiot, and he’ll be right. Going back a few months he finds a detailed write up of the Joker’s escape, and some speculation about where the clown might be, including possible leads. Monro’s name comes up at one point. But the entries give him no useful information on Batman himself.

At least Joker is listed as deceased. Jonathan’s record doesn’t even mention his death. What it does have is a name and location for the last night. The Barrowloads, a local bar, not a place you’d expect to find a scarecrow, but that’s Jon, surprising him from beyond the grave. And the name of an informant, one of his, Kimmie Moore. Jon must have only started working with her recently. Edward had always known to keep a close eye on her. But Jon wasn’t perfect, obviously. Well, he’ll remember her.

There’s information here on Jon’s past. He knows the basics, what’s freely available, and far more. He’s curious about whether the Bat dug up any extra, but he doesn’t have the time to find out now.

Selina knew. That the Bat and Cat were an item was an open secret among Rogues. But Edward hadn’t been certain whether she was aware of Batman’s civilian identity. Her file is the one opened most recently – only yesterday, while he was sitting down here with Bruce. Rude. Nothing in the file was altered. What had Bruce thought as he sat here, staring at it? There’s an address for her, in Genoa. It’s from a week ago, so out of date, but a starting point. She’s been out of town for the last month, and the Bat’s been keeping an eye out. There are so many entries, go back a little and they’re so long. He’d love to have a read through, but…

He closes the folder. He needs a schedule. It doesn’t even need to be Bat-specific, in fact the more general the better. This computer doesn’t link to any other, except maybe the Bat’s communicator. But Bruce must keep a general schedule around somewhere, living two lives takes organisation.

The Batmobile roars in, screeching to a halt rather than slowing as usual. Right on time. Edward closes his search, no doubt the Bat will check what he’s looked at, but that’s fine. This was never about information gathering, not primarily.

Batman comes striding over. He looks angry. He’s probably glad to be angry, better than the awkwardness that’s overtaken them the last few days. Edward is glad of it too, glad of the little trickle of fear memory that runs up his spine as he watches the Bat advance.

He’s relying on the Bat’s newfound guilt to stop him really hurting him, and he’s fairly confident, but not a hundred percent. He stays sitting. He has the odd feeling of hoping he’s wrong, and it makes him smile.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Batman waves a remote at the set-up and it shuts down with the smallest of whirs.

Edward raises an eyebrow at the Bat. “A kill switch? Seriously? Bit of an overkill.” The Bat isn’t actually that angry, he sees, to his disappointment. More frustrated, and probably feeling that he has to put on a show. But Edward wasn’t expecting him to destroy the whole system. That’s interesting. He stands, stepping into Batman’s space so he’s only an inch away. “I got out, and I’ve seen everything. What are you going to do about it, Batman?”

“What are you going to do? What use is that information to you in here?”

“Don’t you want to know how I escaped?”

“That’s what I have cameras for. And you haven’t escaped. You haven’t gotten far, have you?”

As irritating as Batman is, that’s the Batman he wants, not the far too careful one he has been stuck with the last few days. Equally easy to hate, but much easier to tolerate.

Edward runs a finger up the Kevlar of the Bat’s chest, to linger at the base of his neck. “You don’t know what else I’ve done to your cave.”

“I’m sure I’ll find out.”

“Maybe you could make me tell. Maybe not.”

“Is that what this is all about? You’re just a little…”

Almost there. Weird to think that only a few days ago he might have thought of Batman’s reluctance to call him names as charming. “Whore? Slut?” he offers. “What do you expect? You’ve gotten me used to being fucked every day.” Then nothing for three days. Lulling Bruce into returning to a pleasant guilt-filled normalcy is going to take sex. For both of their sakes.

“Do you really think you that’s what you deserve? After this stunt?”

He gives Batman a look designed to break through time to three days ago. “So give me what I deserve. Fuck me like you hate me.” At least then they’ll be on an equal footing.

Batman’s stoic resolve breaks, just a little. He always likes that. “I don’t hate you, Edward.”

“I know, that’s why I said like, moron.” He pulls at the side of Batman’s cowl. He doesn’t want him to remove it, but he wants to see his eyes. He wants that hate he saw in them once back, and he will get it.

Batman’s hand is at his throat in a second, forcing him up onto his toes, and gripping hard enough to make him gasp. “There’s only so much disobedience I’ll tolerate.” But something’s missing, in his expression, or tone. What a disappointment.


	17. Chapter 17

Batman is out for the night, and Edward is not expecting him back any time soon. Or much from him when he does return. At least they have broken the no sex streak, though the sex since Edward’s trip outside the cage has been nothing special. Bruce is gentler, more careful, and Edward has gone along with it, trying to convince him that he needs care.

The atmosphere between them may have eased up a little, but it feels as if it’s been replaced by uninspired and not especially enjoyable play-acting. Falling into roles that although safe, won’t get him to where he wants to be. But he’s having trouble bringing himself to move them forward. Maybe it’s too soon?

So, he’s surprised when the Batmobile pulls up below, only hours after leaving for the night.

Batman leaves the cave and Edward’s left to wait a while longer. It’s a casual Bruce Wayne who returns, with shower-mussed hair. Edward doesn’t like the way looking at him makes him feel. Bruce looks weak as he climbs the stairs to him, he looks lost.

“You’re back early,” he says pleasantly, as Bruce raises the cage.

“There’s no one out.” Bruce half shrugs as he says it, his expression somewhere between pride and fear. “I guess I got them all.” He looks like the very idea confuses him. Edward knows that feeling – being done but not finished. What is Batman going to do if he has killed everyone?

“It’s too early to eat. Do you want me for something, Bruce?”

Bruce looks almost hurt, though he soon schools his features into something harder. “Come on.”

Edward follows him downstairs. He was premature before; this is the time to push. “At least you still have me.” After all, the more enemies Bruce kills and drives away, the more Bruce needs him. What is Batman without Rogues?

Bruce sits at the table and stares into space, brooding. Great. Edward makes his way over to the computer. Bruce hasn’t attempted to start it up since that night, so now it’s dedicating itself to its secondary job of gathering dust. He brushes a little off. Maybe one day he’ll resurrect it, or cut it up for parts and build something better. “Hope you don’t regret that.”

“Hmm,” Bruce answers, not looking.

Edward sits across from him. “Stealthy as a shadow in the dead of night, Cunning but affectionate if given a bite. Never owned but often loved. At my sport considered cruel, but that's because you never know me at all. What am I?”

“Can we not?”

It’s not as though he expected Bruce to chat about his enemies, but with him in this mood it’ll be difficult to read anything useful from his reactions. Edward tries a different approach, sliding over the table and landing in Bruce’s lap. Bruce puts his hands out instinctively to catch him, but doesn’t seem to anticipate an attack. Edward’s not sure how to feel about that. He nestles close. “What’s wrong,” he asks, “not killing upset you?”

Bruce pivots to the side and tries to push him off onto the bench, but he’s not getting rid of him that easily. Edward wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck, bringing them chest to chest, and kisses him as he squirms in Bruce’s lap, trying to get his legs around him to get a better grip. Bruce isn’t kissing back, but he’s more trying to pry him off than shoving him across the room, which is in itself encouraging.

Bruce does manage to shove him off in the end. Edward’s back hits the bench with a thud, his head following with a similar bang soon after.

Bruce doesn’t let go though, he follows and pins him with his bodyweight, kissing him hard. Edward feels the rush of getting him right.

When Bruce pulls back his cheeks are flushed, and he doesn’t have that non-expression on his face anymore, it’s more like Batman’s almost an expression.

“Going to hurt me, Bruce?” Edward asks, seeking further reaction.

“Never,” Bruce says, and kisses him just as roughly as before. The plain lie of it makes it more exciting.

Bruce’s body presses down on his, hand on his hip holding him still as he ruts against him. Bruce’s sweatpants are all that’s separating their cocks, dragging against his skin as the fabric becomes wetter with pre-cum. Edward spreads his legs to give each of them more access, pushing Bruce’s shirt up his back, out the way, to dig nails in, to pull him even closer. Bruce’s thrusts against him are hard enough to push him along the bench, and while Edward’s pushing back to keep the perfect position Bruce seems focused on sustaining the kiss, apparently desperate to keep it. It’s not a position or speed designed to last, Bruce comes first, gasping into Edward’s mouth, and Edward thrusts up against him to join him seconds later.

After, Bruce seems content to lie on top of him. Even in the afterglow the hard bench and weight pressing him to it isn’t comfortable. But Bruce’s skin under his, where Edward’s wrapped his arm over his shoulder, is warm and soft and pleasing to touch. And Bruce looks so relaxed and, well maybe not happy, but close to content, that he’s reluctant to move or speak. But this is the perfect time to get information. “Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to move to the bed? Your bulk is crushing me.”

Maybe because he wants to, or maybe because the lingering guilt is making him feel like he shouldn’t refuse, Bruce gets up immediately. He shucks off his cum-littered clothes while Edward goes and gets the bed ready, not wanting to miss this opportunity.

But moving has broken the spell, enough that they end up on their backs next to each other, not entangled like when they fall into place naturally. He needs to plan ahead next time – this is getting awkward again.

“What did you want to know about Catwoman?” Bruce asks, resigned now, all drive and energy gone.

“Selina, please. I know her too. Nearly as well as you.” Edward’s not expecting Bruce to offer up information, and it puts him on the defensive. “You don’t know where she is?”

“Sure I do.”

“Sure you do. But you’re not going after her?”

“Are you going to tell me I’m wrong, you know better?”

“Wrong.” Though he does have a fairly good idea. He pulls the sheets further around himself. “I’m simply curious as to why you chased her off. Didn’t she appreciate the new you? I’m surprised she isn’t here instead of me.”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship. Or any relationship anymore.”

“But we do?”

“I could never do this to her. And she’d never accept it.” Bruce pauses, looking up at the ceiling, high above them. “I haven’t done anything like this before.”

Now that ending is interesting. Edward’s not sure what it means. Is it a plea for understanding? A passing notion Bruce has only just registered?

“I gathered,” Edward says, more because it seems expected than because it means anything. He needs to change the subject. “So, you say you’ve managed to get rid of all your enemies. Does that mean Selina is off the list?”

“That was the deal we made.”

“But you’re still keeping an eye on her?”

“I don’t break deals. She might.”

“Smart enough to be cautious. That’s my Bats. Can’t let emotions get in the way of justice, eh?” Edward turns to face Bruce, propping himself up on an elbow. “But are you sure you got everyone?” And doesn’t give him time to answer. “Because I don’t see your trophy cabinet filling up?”

Bruce gives a little huff, as if that isn’t worth an answer.

“Did you take one for the Joker at least? I haven’t seen it, but all that ended before I arrived here didn’t it? What could you have added? I know what you have for me.” A living, breathing trophy.

Bruce doesn’t answer, again.

“Well?” Edward presses.

“What is your obsession with the Joker?”

“I’m hardly obsessed. It’s just that I thought things were personal between you two. I thought he was important to you. A sort of driving force.”

“Spending so long trying to help the Joker is one of the worst things I’ve ever done. I don’t need reminding of that.”

“I completely agree. I’ve always thought you were too merciful. Especially to the Joker.”

“You think I should have killed you?” Bruce finally glances at him, then away again, casually, as though Edward’s not interesting enough to keep his attention.

“No, I’m not the Joker, am I?”

“You really believe you’re different?”

“What? Yes. How can you think we’re the same?” Edward’s watching Bruce’s face closely, but it’s refusing to give much away.

“I’m not going to waste my time burying myself under regrets from my past. It’s time to move on.” Bruce is talking to the ceiling again.

“Very sensible, but are you seriously saying that you see the Joker and me as the same? You’re saying you see me, a completely sane genius, with plans with clear goals and profound meaning, as the same as a maniac who dresses as a clown and kills to cause havoc. Even in the most superficial sense we are nothing alike.”

“You’re here and he’s not, isn’t that enough for you?” Bruce frowns, a little. “Selina’s not here. Only you.”

That doesn’t necessarily say anything good about him, except that he’s easier to keep. By choice, but Batman doesn’t know that, yet. Or at least not how far he’s gone in cooperating. “Lucky me.” But he hopes the Joker is seething in hell. “Oh, and you know yet another difference between him and me? I reformed. Could he do that? In fact, I was reformed when you brought me here.”

“You had kidnapped and were torturing a man.”

“I was about to; I hadn’t even started yet. Possibly I wouldn’t even have needed to. And I was doing it for you.”

“Now that sounds like the Joker.”

“I’m not some obsessed fanboy like him, I have my own goals you know nothing about.” But he has Bruce talking and halfway to relaxed, it’s time to focus, and show him how wrong he is later. “You don’t want to talk about it, but you can’t ignore the fact your personal golden rule changed in an instant. Can you blame me for trying to find out why? Don’t you want to know why?”

“No. If I’ve changed at all it’s for the better.” There’s a sudden and noticeable change in Bruce’s tone and demeanour, as there always is when Edward brings up this subject. The way the question so obviously bothers the other man makes Edward want to push further, but before that it makes him nervous that he’s lying in bed with someone unpredictable who’s hurt him in the past. He flinches and it’s not even part of the vulnerable attitude he’s been trying to project. Of course, Bruce notices, his expression softens. Edward doesn’t like it when he notices and it’s real, but it would be antithetic to his plan to pretend it’s not. “I’m not going to hurt you, Edward. Not for the things you’ve done in the past, and not for asking a question. But move on. You won’t find the answer you’re looking for.”

Edward isn’t sure how to answer that. “I still want to know.” He fiddles with the edge of the sheet.

“There’s nothing to know.”

“Who’s a better judge of that? You or me?”

Bruce sighs, and begins to sit up.

“Don’t go.” Edward grabs his wrist. The words come before he even plans them, before he’s even sure Bruce is going. He knows he can get somewhere with Bruce. He just needs to find the right words at the right time.

Bruce’s eyes soften. He’s kind of a mess, Edward thinks. Bruce lays back down, on his side to face him, only inches away. Edward lets go of his hand, but Bruce grabs his right back, to hold it between them on the mattress.

“Edward, I want to treat you better than this. Aren’t you tired of it down here? Don’t you get sick of being alone?” Edward can see in Bruce’s eyes that he does. “Let me take you upstairs.”

Of course he doesn’t want to stay in this cave. Of course he doesn’t want to be alone. But it’s Bruce’s fault he is. He had expected Bruce would ask soon, fuelled by guilt, and he would modestly demur until next time. But he doesn’t say no. “What do I get?”

“You can sleep in a proper bed. You can spend time around the house.” Bruce smiles as if they’re in on the same joke. “You won’t have to spend ninety percent of your time in a cage.”

Okay, it sounds pretty good. But it’s what Bruce wants, not him. And he won’t give Bruce what he wants if it doesn’t give him a clear advantage. What does he want? He knows what he wants. “I want to ask questions.”

“Okay?”

“Once a week. I can ask you any question, and you have to answer it honestly and in full.”

“Really?” Bruce’s expression suggests he would have given more, but Edward knows he won’t need it. “Alright. One question a week. And as honestly as I can.”

He knows Bruce will try to give as little away as possible, but that’s what makes this a challenge. He also knows Bruce isn’t going to break his promise. He’s lonely, and that can be manipulated. Bruce needs him far more than he needs Bruce.

Edward pulls his hand from Bruce’s, but not far. “Shake on it.”

Bruce does, before pulling him into a kiss. Edward can feel him smiling, and he smiles too. He can’t help but be a little charmed by how happy Bruce is to have him.


	18. Chapter 18

Edward wraps a blanket around himself; it’s cleaner than the robe. Bruce is dressing too, wiping the worst of the marks off his sweatpants with his shirt and then balling it up into the bin, to go topless. So, probably not expecting to meet anyone upstairs. “We’re going now?” Edward’s not sure why his voice sounds so unsure.

“If you’re ready?”

“Of course I am.” He leads the way across the floor and up the stone stairs, but at the door out of the cave he falls back. He glances up at the ledges where the other doors sit, how can he have been here so long and have left places unexplored?

But the world above is calling him. He’s sure he could open the lock to this door, but he doesn’t, and then Bruce has, so it’s too late. “I could have opened that,” he says, in case Bruce might not have realised.

Bruce rolls his eyes, which Edward doesn’t appreciate, before stepping through and waiting, one hand holding the door. He’s not going to be stuck standing here like an idiot. He lifts his head and walks through.

He steps into a dimly lit, gothically furnished living-room lined with bookshelves. Bruce turns the hands on a tall grandfather clock and sends the walls behind them sliding back against each other. “Well, that’s elaborate.”

Bruce leads him through the manor, through rooms filled with antique furniture, halls lined by portraits of dead people, and up a polished set of stairs. Walking along a richly carpeted hallway Edward hears a sound, and it takes him a second to realise it’s more than just the storm outside picking up. He stops at the sound of voices in an adjacent room and looks at Bruce.

“Shh,” Bruce whispers, “I’ll introduce you in the morning.”

It’s not that there’s any reason there couldn’t be others here, it’s just not how he had pictured it. “You will?”

Bruce takes his hand, and Edward lets him lead him to a room at the end of the hallway.

This must be the master bedroom. It’s not like the other rooms could possibly be any bigger. An enormous canopied bed, space for a dozen more, several doors leading off on every side, a huge window onto a balcony filling one wall. In the gap between the drapes, stars blink as dark clouds speed across the sky. The other walls are decorated with ornately but tastefully framed landscapes and more modern light fittings. Bruce switches on a couple and turns to look at him. Edward looks right back. It’s clear Bruce hasn’t planned this far ahead.

Edward takes a seat on the bed and tests the springs. “Nice bed. Good bounce to it. And soft. I expected something more spartan from the great warrior, but I suppose you’ll appreciate this mattress once you hit thirty and your joints give out. Here, come and try it out.” He pats the space next to him.

Bruce sits down while Edward bounces again, it feels weird sitting on a proper bed after so long. He doesn’t like the way Bruce is watching him, like he’s a child taking his first steps, so he leans in for a kiss that ends up gentler than he intended, one hand cupping Bruce’s cheek, drawing him close, the other pulling off his, well Bruce’s, blanket, and dropping it to the ground. He’s done with it.

Bruce pulls him in closer, one hand warm on the back of his neck, the other resting lightly on his hip. Edward can feel the communication getting easier, keeping it physical rather than verbal is a good idea, and he is definitely up for christening this bed.

“Bruce, take your pants off. They’re disgusting.”

Bruce looks down and grimaces at the stained sweatpants. “Right.”

Once Bruce has undressed it seems he has a plan in mind. He kisses Edward, just a brush against his lips, and lays him down on the bed, lowering himself beside him so they are lying on their sides close together, kissing deeper. Bruce is predictable, but at least the way he touches him gently and holds him close feels more appropriate here than it did in the cave. Bruce has chosen to take him to his soft bed, and as terrible a decision as that may be, it is a time tenderness between them can almost make sense.

Bruce cradles his face in his hands, pulls back and just looks at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bruce’s voice is different from how Edward’s heard it before – in person, at least – softer and deeper. He has heard it though, replayed it, a snatch of background conversation in a news report, Bruce talking to one of his everchanging queue of lovers. It was what Edward would have imagined once, when the idea of them doing this seemed just that, an idea. Now he wants something more. Possibly sensing that he’s losing him, Bruce kisses him quickly.

Edward lets him, and the kiss goes on a while. “You really like kissing, don’t you?” he says when Bruce finally pulls away.

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes, if we’re going to do this then kissing is the one thing that’s off limits.”

Bruce smiles. “You like it too.” Then he looks serious again. “What else do you want?”

He hasn’t got the energy to deal with Bruce’s teasing. “Bruce, get on with it.”

“Get on with what?” Bruce smiles at his expression. “I want to know what you want.” Bruce twists a leg over his thigh, pressing their bodies, and crotches, flush together. “Like this?” He grinds against him, just once.

Edward writhes, adjusting their positions. It’s good, but it’s not what he wants right now. “Or you could just fuck me.”

“Is that what you want? I mean is that okay?” Not teasing, something far worse.

Bruce is going to be like this all night, and then hopefully never again. “I wouldn’t say it if - I’m going to have to do this myself, aren’t I?” Edward’s erection is growing, and his energy with it.

He pushes Bruce onto his back and climbs aboard, grabbing his wrists to anchor them to the mattress right above where his knees sit now, either side of Bruce’s hips. Stretched out like this Bruce’s body at least is an open book, every muscle on display. Edward should be used to the view by now, but he has to admit it’s still working for him. And he’s definitely not used to seeing Bruce like this, still and laid out for him. He wriggles back onto Bruce’s pelvis, making sure his cock is good and trapped under him. “Keep your hands down,” Edward warns when he lets go and reaches back to palm Bruce’s balls with one hand, the other pressing on Bruce’s stomach to keep him steady. He can feel the tension running through Bruce’s body, although he does keep his hands still. Bruce isn’t used to being in this position. Does he really not enjoy it? Edward guesses he’ll find out. He edges back further onto Bruce’s thighs, to take Bruce’s half-hard cock in hand. “Now what am I going to do with this?”

“You seem to know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Where’s the lube?”

Bruce directs him to the bedside table, top drawer. The accessories Edward’s hoping for don’t materialise, but a solitary bottle of lube is rolling around inside the drawer, sharing space with a phone charger. When he gets back Bruce has apparently relaxed into his position, lying with arms crossed behind his head, propped up on a pillow and looking extremely comfortable.

“All relaxed? Good.” Edward straddles him again and lubes up his fingers, reaching back to rub them against Bruce’s hole, watching his expression closely. Bruce doesn’t complain, but he doesn’t give the faintest hint he’s enjoying it, and that’s not what Edward likes to see. He likes seeing what he can do to Bruce, not what Bruce will let him do. He supposes he can be predictable too, sometimes.

He grips Bruce’s cock instead, starts lubing him up. “Is that nice?” he asks, syrupy sweet.

Bruce moans at the first touch. “You’re so good with your hands.”

“I’m good with everything.” He has an urge to kiss Bruce, and goes with it, spreading lube over the other man’s shoulders as he uses them to balance. Bruce lifts his hands to pull him in and stroke through his hair and Edward doesn’t want to stop to tell him it’s not allowed.

He pulls back, and enjoys the way Bruce follows him, keeping the kiss going as long as possible, until Edward shakes his hands out of his hair and presses down so their cocks are level. He spreads more lube over both, focusing on the slide until there’s no way Bruce could be any harder or wetter. Edward’s not doing bad either, spurred on by the quiet sounds Bruce is making. Bruce’s hands are by his side again, without being told, which he likes too.

Edward sits up. He hasn’t stretched himself, but it’s alright, they’ve plenty of lube and Bruce fucked him last night, in another world. He holds Bruce’s cock steady and sits over the tip, stroking his own cock as he does, determined to keep his erection through it.

“If it’s too much…” Bruce looks ready to jump into a fight, to protect him from himself.

He sits down on the cock with barely a wince. “Does it look like too much?”

Bruce is definitely feeling it though. “Go slow.” His head is thrown back, leaving his throat exposed, his fingers digging into the mattress. Edward could hurt him right now, but then, Bruce could hurt him too. He starts moving, slowly, Bruce’s cock is a lot to take in one go.

He gets into a rhythm, balancing himself with one hand on Bruce’s thigh, which has risen up behind him. He’s pushing himself hard enough to let out a breath every time he presses down. Bruce is watching him so hard Edward has to close his eyes for a moment, and even then he still feels it. “You feel incredible,” Bruce says, like it’s a revelation. “Let me touch you.”

Edward nods. Bruce’s grip on his cock is immediate and tight, but Edward still pushes further into his hold at the top of the thrust. “Bruce,” he says his name far too breathily, so he turns it into an order. “You can fuck me, if you need to.”

Bruce goes off, thrusting into him hard, one hand grasping his hip. Edward goes with the pace as long as he can as it builds, until he falls forward, not sure how much is a fall and how much is wanting to be caught. Bruce pulls him in tight right away, thrusting slower as their lips meet. They end up on their sides, Bruce still deep inside him.

The pressure of those long slow thrusts against his prostate, Bruce’s grip on his cock, and his mouth hungry against his own send Edward over the edge. Bruce kisses him through his orgasm, thrusting faster and faster, never letting go of his cock, wringing the last drops out of him.

Edward holds tighter around Bruce’s shoulders as the cock inside him pulses. He can’t keep the kiss so desperate as Bruce moans and shudders, so he slows it down, gripping him hard and kissing him lightly, gently, until he’s done.

Bruce lets his head fall to the side on the mattress, and Edward rests his forehead in the space between his chin and chest. He can feel Bruce’s heart hammering, watch the rise and fall of his ribcage. At this moment, it’s mesmerizing.

Bruce’s arms flex around him again and he is lifted up to lie on top of him. Bruce kisses the top of his head. “All mine,” he says softly, sounding happily possessive.

Which Edward is fine with, for about a second. He lifts his head. “May I wash up?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask anymore.” Edward isn’t impressed with Bruce’s tone. As though he’s bestowing some great favour. Still, it’ll be nice to have a bit more freedom. Bruce did say he would be able to move around the house. Edward’s not going to ask him to clarify that now. He’s sure Bruce will, but he’d like to have a look around first. Better to apologise than to ask permission. Even better to do neither.

Edward slides off, to stand on carpet that’ll take time to get used to, and Bruce follows him, slipping ahead to open a door. “Here.” Edward looks into a vast marble bathroom, before glancing over at Bruce, who has moved away already, rifling through a chest of drawers. “You can borrow some of my pyjamas tonight,” Bruce says. He carries a pile into the bathroom.

Edward showers, before filling the large tub and relaxing back in the steaming water. He had half expected Bruce to join him, good thing he hasn’t, he supposes. There’s an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with being fucked hard. He’s soothed by the hot water, by remembering the look on Bruce’s face and the feel of his body against his. It’s good Bruce wants him, it feeds into his plan perfectly, it’s not strange to be thinking about these things.

He doesn’t think he’s on a timer this time, but he has to get out or he’s going to fall asleep. He towels off and goes through the pile of clothes. Due to Bruce’s habit of keeping him naked Edward had half expected to receive the bare minimum. But there’s a red flannel pyjama pants and top, white boxers, undershirt, and socks. All turn out to be slightly too big, but comfortable. He stops at the bathroom mirror to brush his teeth. Bruce Wayne has a small pile of still wrapped toothbrushes in his bathroom cabinet, what a surprise. A straight razor too, but that’ll keep until tomorrow.

Outside the wind is howling and inside Bruce is lying in bed, reading. He smiles at Edward. “I’ll get you some new clothes tomorrow.” Edward considers asking if he can’t have his own room too. But doesn’t. He feels small in his borrowed clothes. The fabric is soft but feels stiff after having gone so long wearing barely anything. The room smells funny, not a bad smell, just like someone else’s home. He remembers this feeling. Borrowed pyjamas, someone else’s nicer room, someone else’s nicer home. Feeling scared, hopeful, and an immense pressure to fit in, something he had never been good at, and be good, something he barely understood.

He slides under the covers. Bruce puts the book down, spine down Edward notices, claps off the light, and turns to him, lifting the sheets for him to get closer. He does snuggle up, because it’s cold getting out of the bath, and because he is playing at being vulnerable, to trick Bruce. “What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, as Edward buries his head against his chest.

“Nothing.” He’s angry at him for even asking such a stupid question.

Bruce wraps his arms around him. It’s not exactly an equal embrace, but why would it be? He is Bruce’s, but that doesn’t make Bruce his. Still, he has to admit it’s comforting to be held for once. He’s become too used to the cave, his reptilian brain has started registering it as safe, and up here in the real world as too exposed. Maybe it has a point. What is going to happen tomorrow?

Thunder crashes over Gotham, and the wind tag teams with it, and for a moment the howling wind sounds like a very literal howl. He’s keyed up enough to stiffen automatically.

“Don’t worry Eddie, I’ll protect you.” Bruce’s voice against his ear might sound amused, but he’s already pulled Edward closer.

“From the weather?” He hopes Bruce knows he’s not afraid. He doubts Bruce cares, probably just likes the idea. Bruce doesn’t want the real him, just some dependant idea of him born inside his mind. Well if that’s what he wants he can have it.

Still, it’s comforting even if it’s fake. He is nestled against Bruce’s body, and Bruce is holding him very tight. He can feel every slow breath of the chest pressed against his. Bruce is so warm, the room isn’t cold, but he’d rather be too hot than let go. Bruce is something solid to hold on to. Even if it’s not the real him Bruce is responding to, who cares if Bruce gives him what he wants? And if he wants to be held then it partially is, isn’t it? He loses himself in circular thought.

He must have been half asleep. An especially loud howl from outside and a spatter of rain thudding against the window make him open his eyes. In the dim light he can barely make out where Bruce’s body ends, curled around him. Is Bruce asleep? His breathing is regular, he looks asleep. That’s no guarantee.

He could pull away, but he doesn’t. It’s only practical. In the rare event zombie trees possessed by dead Rogues break through the window Bruce will protect him, or at least get eaten first since he’s closer. These things do happen in Gotham.


End file.
